Darkness Before the Dawn
by T.H.W
Summary: The sequel to "Let the World Stand Still". Finally! Sorry about the delay. If you don't know what it's about, it's about what happens after Bright Eyes' return to Manhattan.
1. Default Chapter

*Note from Author* You guys are sooooo patient! Thanx! Here's the sequel!  
  
  
  
  
"The Darkness Before the Dawn"  
  
  
  
The ship pulled into port just as the morning light was fully spreading over the horizon, throwing the city beyond into a flurry of activity. As the tourists and travelers gradually stepped off the boat, they admired the snowy steeples and buildings arising in the distance. Praise was heaped on the large bridge stretching across the canal, which was the pride of its community. The last person to step off, was a woman. Actually, if one observed her closely, they would see that she was just on the brink of becoming a woman. If they looked even closer, they would see that she had grown up quickly and earlier than most children. This had happened by some mishap or accident that had occurred in her young life. A person could tell by these qualities that she knew how to handle life easily. But despite these, she had the elements that convinced one that she was an associate with society, her well polished manners apparent even as she walked across the pier.   
  
Her brown red hair was piled atop her head, a plain red scarf resting upon it, a muffler covering her neck from the cold. The skin was white, but with a red tinge on her cheeks not applied by rouge or any such make-up. Her natural color flattered her face tremendously and she had been praised for it more than once. The girl's eyes were what caught the casual observer. They were a brilliant, bright blue, shining at all times, but grew dark and stormy when anger struck. They twinkled when she laughed and when she did, one could almost see the little girl of her lost youth peeking out from behind them.  
  
The girl stopped on the dock and was silent, a small smile flitting across her lips. On the outside she was demure and silent, but on the inside, the little girl jumped up and down screaming with joy. As her bags were thrown into a pile, she scooped up the long skirt, a little too high for some old ladies near the boat, and ran towards the growing pile of luggage. With a grin, she neglected help from the sailor and picked up her bags with ease. Then she set off, catching a ride in a carriage to Manhattan.   
  
When she arrived there, she had the cabby stop near Central Park. She paid him and stepped off lightly, entering the park. She walked, shivering along the paths until she arrived at the very edge of Central Park. There she could see the ice that had spread over the water, inviting couples and children to skate upon it. The girl gazed out across the frozen water, then sat down on a bench under an old oak tree. After a bit, the girl smiled and eased herself out of the bench, shouldered her bag and made her way back out of the park. When she did, she headed toward the very heart of Manhattan. She stopped to buy a few nuts from a vendor and looked around. As she kept walking, a voice came to her ears, and as she walked seemed to be coming closer and closer.   
  
The voice was singing a song, and it sounded as if it came from a boy. Finally the singer was revealed near the very center of the market square. He was holding papers and singing at the top of his lungs, holding out his cap as he did so.  
  
Oh, buy me papes,  
One and all,  
Come buy me papes,  
Come on, good ol' Miss Randall.  
  
Only a penny a piece,  
An' I tell ya dis,  
Dats real cheap,  
When ya buys 'em from me!  
  
The crowd laughed as the boy danced around to his own lively tune, grinning and tossing papers right and left. The girl smiled as she watched the boy. He was rather short, but looked about fourteen years old. He had bright blue eyes and a thin frame. His hair was brown, with a natural wave, and uncovered as he collected money with his hat. He was rather popular with the young girls, she noticed, for whenever he came near, they would giggle and blush as he flashed them a winning smile. One girl even went so far as to kiss him on the cheek as he passed by, causing him to exclaim, "Well by George, I believe dat dis little lady is tryin' ta soften me up so dat she don't hafta pay! Well if dis is gonna be da pay, its all on me sweetheart!" He said with a grin. The girl laughed as her friends poked her knowingly.  
  
"Well me friends, I best get goin' on to anotha sellin' spot. So get yer papes here while ya can! Got people ta see ya know!" The boy yelled above the groans, mostly from the girls. A whole herd of people came all at once, asking for papers right and left, surprising the girl. "He's pretty sharp." She murmured. When all the people had drifted away, and the boy was about to walk away himself, the girl cried out to him, "Hey kid! Wait! I want to talk to you!" The boy stopped and smiled, rubbing his hands together as she ran up.   
  
"Ya wanna buy a pape miss, fer yer husband? I gots jest da one fer you! Tain't soggy 'er nothin'! After all, tis Christmas Eve!" The girl held out her hand to shake and the boy spit into his and extended his grubby hand. The girl accepted it and shook fiercely, surprising the boy. "Well, why didn't ya gross out? I plumb fergot not ta spit shake wit' anybody 'cept da Newsies, but ya didn't care?! Dats a new one on me. A lady who'll spit shake wit' ya?" The boy wondered aloud as the girl quickly withdrew her hand. "Whats your name boy?" The girl asked. The boy straightened up stoutly and saluted smartly with an irresistible grin. "Me name's Arthur James Dominic Andrew McCoy, the thoid. But me friends call me Tenor."   
  
The girl's eyes widened with surprise. "My what a name! I was afraid that I was going to have to call you by all your names. Are you called Tenor because you sing?" The boy nodded. "Yup, me good pal Cowboy gave it to me. He thought dat da udda one was too long too. So, whatcha want wit me?" The girl shivered and rubbed her gloved hands together as a wind blew against the pair. "Well, I need some information about some certain people." The boy smiled cockily. "Whats in it fer me? Miss Nameless." The girl smiled and clapped her hand against her forehead. "So sorry I fergot, forgot. My name is Anne McClaen. I'll pay you, ummmmm. How 'bout, about, a quarter?" The boy nearly dropped his papers in surprise. "A quarter!? Fer me? But dats, whoa!"   
  
Anne smiled. "What? Too much?" The boy started violently. "Heck no! Not by a longshot! Its jest havin' a whole quarter of me very own! An' on Christmas Eve too! Wow! Whaddya wanna know? I'll tell ya everything!" Anne smiled and placed the shiny quarter in the boy's hand. "Well I need to know about some Newsies. Their whereabouts and such. Their names are, Jack Kelly, Kid Blink, Spot Conlon, and Racetrack Higgins." As she spoke the last name, her voice gained a certain dreamy tone, that altered as soon as she realized what she was saying. The boy scratched his head and pocketed the quarter.  
  
"Well les see. Jack Kelly is also called Cowboy by da Newsies. He lives in Manhattan an' he's 19. He's one of me best friends. Kid is still a Newsie an' he does anotha job too. An' he's 19 too. Racetrack is 18 an' one of da best gamblers in da Lodgin' House, an' Manhattan in fact." "Still?" Anne broke in, surprising Tenor. Anne blushed. "I mean, I heard that he gambled, but I didn't know that he was still doing it." She blundered. Tenor shrugged his shoulders and continued his litany. "Race still lives in Manhattan too. Spot Conlon is a hard one. Nobody really knows allot about Spot. He keeps to himself allot. If ya really wanna know 'bout 'im, ya should ask Red in Brooklyn. He's his best pal." Tenor remarked enviously. "I wish I was Spot Conlon's best pal. Dat all ya wanted ta know?"   
  
Anne rubbed her cheek thoughtfully. "Well, come to think of it. Maybe you can help me here. Have you ever heard of or seen a Newsie called, oh I think it was, Bright Eyes?" The boy looked at Anne thoughtfully before he answered. "Bright Eyes? I don't know if she even exists. I mean, Spot says dat its jest a story, but da boys in da Lodgin' House say dat she was as real as you an' me an' Spots' jest makin' it up 'cause she hurt 'im so bad. Da boys said dat she was once a Newsie like dem. An' one of da best." Tenor looked up at Anne and saw tears peeking out from behind the blue of her eyes. "Well, what happened to dis, this girl?"   
  
The boy now watched Anne closely as he spoke. "She flew da coop. Ran away one day. Last year da boys said. Dey still don't know why though. Why do ya wanna know about Bright Eyes?" The boy asked curiously. "No reason. Hey, you said Kid Blink has another job? What is it?" Anne motioned for the boy to whisper it in her ear. After he told her, she smiled and whispered in his ear as he approved it. "Yeah..............not bad.........no kiddin'.............well I'll try............probably........yeah, ya got yerself a deal miss! Hey and danks fer everythin'!" Tenor said as he began to walk toward a street corner, waving as he went. "Tenor, here." Anne tossed another quarter to Tenor who caught it and stared at the money, speechless. "Merry Christmas Tenor!" She yelled as the boy waved and ran off.  
  
Tenor ran to the nearby corner and stood waiting for his friend. As he waited he glanced back at the girl. She was blamed beautiful! Dem eyes of hers jest see right through ya an' dere so kind an' friendly. I wonda why she wanted ta know 'bout da boys. Sometin' important. Maybe she knows where dere families are or sometin'. Dat would be interestin'. Dat would kinda 'splain why she wanted ta find dat Bright Eyes goil. She found her ma or dad or sometin'. A carriage rolled into Tenor's thoughts as it passed by. Tenor saw it and yelled to the driver. "Heya Blink! Stop! I's got a customer fer ya!" The driver held back his horses and turned as the boy came running up.  
  
"Merry Christmas ta you too kid! Whats dis 'bout customers? I've had so many customers teday dat I don't know if I kin hold meself up dis evening." Kid Blink remarked as he removed his hat and ran a hand through his brown-blonde hair. Tenor smiled and patted one of the horses as he spoke. "Well, its a lady. An' she's standin' on da corner ova dere. She wants a ride. An' Blink, she's been askin' 'bout ya's. Jack, Race an' Spot too. Even dat goil Bright Eyes." At the mention of the last name, Blink lifted his head slightly. "What did she ask 'bout Bright, Tenor?" The boy shrugged and smoothed the horse's mane lovingly. "Not much. Jest wanted ta know if she lived here an' what happened to her an' stuff. Like I said, nothin' much."   
  
Kid Blink sighed and sat his cap back on his head. "I wish people would let her rest. Its been a little over a year now. She ain't comin' back, everyone knows dat. Old Mrs. Russell over on Crook Road still doesn't believe it though. All of her most popular buyers cain't believe it, dat she would run away. Well now they've seen everything I guess, me included. Well, I'm gonna do dis last ride an' den I'm comin' home okay Tenor. Tell da boys dat I'll be home soon."  
  
Tenor smiled and waved as Kid Blink pulled to the corner where the lady stood. "Kin I help ya miss?" He queried with a smile. The girl smiled and gazed at Blink in a way that made him uncomfortable. "Miss?" The girl started and climbed into the carriage. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help thinking that I had seen you somewhere before. Forgive me if I made you uncomfortable. I would like you to drive me to the Greeley statue please." Blink tapped the horses lightly with the reins and the carriage resumed its slightly bumpy canter. "So ya live in Manhattan miss? Don't believe I've seen ya around here whereabouts. Whats yer name?" Blink asked as he drove.   
  
"Anne McClaen. I lived here once. I'm here to visit friends." Blink laughed. "Ya think yer gonna find 'em at da Greeley statue? Is dat an' old haunt or sometin'?" The girl gave a small laugh. "Yes, it is an old haunt of mine. A very dear one in fact." Blink smiled as he remembered his childhood days at the statue, recollecting the tone of reverence with which the girl spoke its name. "Yeah, same here. Ya have a slight accent, miss. Did ya live here long?" The girl was silent as she gazed out at the cobblestone streets and the peasants and the rich people walking in them. "I lived here my whole life, until I was forced to leave." Blink turned and gazed briefly at the girl before turning round again.   
  
"Um, me friend, da little kid said dat you was askin' 'bout me an' a few of me friends. Might I ask how ya knew 'bout 'em an' why you've come?" The girl stared at Blink's back, then turned out towards the snowy drifts. "I knew them, from my childhood. I saw them alot." Blink rolled his good eye. "How could you have seen them alot? We boys change our sellin' spots sometimes, an' from da way Tenor said it, ya acted like ya knew us personally." Blink said, aggravation rising in his voice. The girl stared out at the drifts as she murmured, "Dats 'cause I did know ya personally Blink." Kid Blink turned around in shock at the total dropping of her proper tone of voice and resuming a strong New York accent. As he gazed at the girl slumped in the back seat staring back at him, he remembered, he recollected.   
  
"Bright?" He whispered, almost reverently. "Bright, is dat really you?" The girl smiled, then laughed sweetly at the seriousness of her friend. "Yeah, yeah its me Blink!" They both grabbed each other in a fierce hug that lasted for a long moment before they let go. "Wow, look at ya! In dose duds! I didn't even recognize ya! Yer so grown up an' different! An' witout yer accent, I barely knew yer voice!" Bright Eyes laughed. "I know! It was a pain to drop my accent totally, so I left a tinge of it for my own comfort. And da clothes, I'm gonna change as soon as I go to da Lodgin' House. I'm a journalist Blink! A real journalist! My paper in Chicago has even printed a few of my pieces!" Blink gazed at his friend in admiration, the horses and carriage forgotten completely. "Dats great Bright! A real journalist! An' in Chicago! Da boys will freak! Why did ya change yer name Bright? I mean, from what it was before. Wasn't yer last name O'Connor?"   
  
Bright Eyes smiled. "Yeah, but I didn't want me dad ta find me or nothin'. McClaen was my mother's maiden name. So when do we go to da Lodgin' House?" Blink smiled and grasped the forgotten reins. "Right now!" Bright Eyes laughed as the horses jolted and began to move quickly. "I can't wait till we get dere! We kin talk along da way! Oh Blink, I've got so many tings ta ask an' stuff!" Blink grinned as Bright Eyes rambled. "Well shoot. Whaddya wanna hear 'bout?" Bright Eyes sat back in her seat thoughtfully. "Well, dat kid Tenor said some stuff 'bout Spot. Like dat he's been tellin' everybody dat I'm jest a story an' stuff. Whats dat all about?"   
  
Blink sighed, dejectedly. "Well eva since ya left Bright, Spot's been kinda withdrawn an' more tough dan normal. He saw ya go away dat night Bright. Red saw ya an' he told Spot. Spot followed ya to da dock an' saw ya go. He was shocked an' hoit real bad. I guess dat ya didn't say goodbye or even give him any hints." If Blink had turned and glanced at Bright Eyes at that moment, he would have seen the look of pure shock covering her face. "I gave him a few hints! Like da day before I left I came to him an' talked to him! I gave him as many hints as I could without givin' it away!" Bright Eyes choked. "I'm sure ya did. But lets jest say dat Spot ain't as fergivin' as some of us boys. Ya know dat. Ya know dat Spot's jest like dat." Bright Eyes sighed sadly and held her hand out to catch the falling snow in her gloved hand. "So tell me 'bout da udda boys. How dey been doin'?" She asked. And so Blink proceeded to tell Bright Eyes about all of the boys and how they had been since her departure. To the observer the scene would've been rather unusual; a lady dressed in rather fine clothes speaking in a fierce New York accent to a grubby boy who barely had enough warm clothes for himself.  
  
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Back at the Lodging House, things were in a tizzy preparing for the big night ahead. Ever since Bright Eyes started it, the boys had been putting up garlands and wreaths in the Lodging House at Christmas time. Only this year, it would be bigger than ever. Spot Conlon had been invited to the dinner being prepared, and he surprisingly had accepted. There was a tree in the living room, or what served as a living room to the boys, and it was being decorated with gingerbread men baked by Kloppman's niece Jane, glass ornaments that had been collected from years past and candles.  
  
Racetrack was standing on a tall ladder so as to put a pine bough wreath above the front door. Lovingly, he took out of its box, a small glass ornament shaped like a newpaper that Bright Eyes had brought home a long time ago. She had started hanging it on a wreath above the door to as she said, "symbolize dat all Newsies is welcome in dis Lodgin' House." No one knew where she had got a hold of it. She had refused to tell. Racetrack's personal belief was that she had made it, for what person would sell a newspaper ornament with the names, "Jack, Racetrack, Spot, and all the Newsies" painted in extremely small letters on it.   
  
Racetrack held the small ornament in his hand for a moment, remembering its owner, before he sighed and attached it to the wreath. "That looks good Race. A little to the left though. Great!" The Jacobs family had also been invited and so Les had gladly assumed the role of decorator. Sarah and Mrs. Jacobs were in the kitchen and David and Mr. Jacobs were talking and helping the the boys as they decorated. "Hey Race! Ya won't guess what some goil gave me teday!" Racetrack looked down from the ladder and saw Tenor standing beneath him. "Well, whatcha got kid?" Tenor smiled a coy smile at Racetrack and held up a small green plant. Racetrack shrugged his shoulders uncaring. "So? Yer becomin' a vegetarian?" Tenor rolled his eyes. "Nope. Its mistletoe."  
  
"Who's got mistletoe?" Jack yelled across the room. Tenor grinned and swung the plant back and forth above his head so that Jack could see. "Whatcha gonna do wit' dat Tenor?" He questioned as the boys crowded round Tenor. "I's gonna hang it up, unda da livin' room door." The older boys looked at each other and grinned, while the younger ones scratched their heads, confused. "So whats dat got ta do wit anythin'?" A small boy named Fish asked. Jack grinned and stooped down to the boy's height. "Well ya see Fish, mistletoe is sometin' special around Christmas time." The boy's brow furrowed in concentration as he listened to the older boy. "Like presents an' stuff."   
  
Jack smiled as the other boys chuckled at the smaller boy's ignorance. "Yeah sorta like dat. But ya see, if ya hang up mistletoe above a doorway an' a boy an' goil walk unda it at da same time, dey hafta kiss. Its tradition." Fish's face crumpled in disgust. "Yuck! Dat ain't hardly as good as a present! Dats disgustin'!" All the boys burst out in laughter. "Yeah well, we olda boys don't seem ta tink so!" Mush laughed as he poked Racetrack. At that moment, Sarah happened to walk in the room.   
  
"Whats going on in here?" Laughter ceased as they looked from Sarah to the mistletoe, now hiding behind Tenor's back. Fish saw Sarah edging closer, and horror swept over his young face. "Don't come any closer Sarah! Please fer yer own sake!" Sarah stopped suddenly with concern spread across her face. "But why Fish?" The older boys began to titter slightly as they watched the boy. " 'Cause theys gonna try an' get ya ta kiss 'em wit' mistletoe!" He burst out. The titters became a huge thunder clap of laughter as the boys howled. Sarah smiled then rolled her eyes and walked out of the room.  
  
"But Jack, whose we gonna kiss? Dere's no one here but Sarah an' her momma. No one else." A boy named Flick questioned. Jack smiled and patted the boy's back. "We'll jest make do I guess." Suddenly, the happy mood went as soon as it had come as Snipeshooter remarked, "I wish dat Bright Eyes were here. Christmas ain't gonna be da same widout her." All the boys were silent. "Rememba when she got me a new crutch an' den painted all sorts of neat designs on it? I still have dat in da closet upstairs fer special occasions." Crutchy sighed as he shifted his weight on his old, plain, wooden crutch. "I 'memba when Bright found me anotha bandanna when I lost mine, 'cause Osca an' Morris snitched it. 'Memba? It was dat nice, clean, beautiful red. All washed an' new." Jack murmured. The boys all shuffled their feet and coughed as they told of the other numerous Christmases long gone by.  
  
"Hey, whats wit' da gloomy faces? Lets get dose away! Brooklyn is here!" A call sounded from the doorway. Everyone turned as Fish gasped and ran to the speaker. "Spot! Spot! Yer really here! I cain't believe it!" The boys smiled as the 17 year old scooped up the small boy, whom Spot had especially christened Fish after one of Brooklyn's finest Newsie leaders and Spot's mentor and hero. " 'Corse I's hea. What ya tink I wouldn't keep me woid?" Spot laughed. "No sir! Spot Conlon always keeps his woid! Ain't dat right?" The boy said proudly as he clasped his arms around his hero's neck. The boys laughed and gathered around Spot, slapping him on the back and grinning. Spot glanced up at the small ornament as the boys took his thin coat, and a shadow passed over his face. He held up his hand and fingered it, then dropped it as though the ornament had shocked him.   
  
"So whats fer dinna, boys? I could smell it a mile away!" Spot queried, grinning at Fish as he tagged along holding Spot's hand in a death grip. "Oh lots of stuff! Dumplin's, turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans! All sorts of stuff! An' Misses Davey's mum made it all herself! But we's gotta wait fer Blink though." Fish said with childish seriousness. "Say Tenor, where is Blink anyway?" Jack asked. Tenor shrugged as he altered a wilting bow on one of the wreaths. "I dunno. He said dat he was gonna make one more drop off an' den come on home. He should be back soon." Just then a loud banging sounded on the front door and Racetrack grinned.   
  
"Oops. Musta fergot to unlock da door when I was hangin' up da wreath." He said sarcastically as he slapped Mush playfully. "I'll get it! I wanna be da foist ta tell Blink dat Spot's here!" Fish exclaimed as he ran towards the door. No one challenged him and the boys began to walk toward the dining room, where all sorts of pleasant aromas were drifting through the Lodging House. Racetrack was one of the last boys to walk into the dining room, but he stopped in the doorway when he heard the door open. "Blink! Hi! Spot's here fer dinna! An' we's got, who's dat Blink? She's looks nice." Racetrack slapped Jack as he walked into the dining room, causing him to turn around towards the door with Racetrack.  
  
Blink walked in alone, leaving Fish to gaze in through the doorway at the person beyond. "Whatcha got up yer sleeve Blink?" Racetrack asked curiously. Blink grinned ear to ear and put his hands behind his back. "Nothin' much. Jest anotha Christmas guest." He then motioned with his hand toward the doorway. As the person walked through, a gloved hand reached up and touched the ornament lovingly. Racetrack and Jack didn't move as the person moved into view. Snipeshooter came up from behind the two and followed the two's eyes to the person in the hallway.   
  
His eyes widened and his mouth dropped before he yelled, "BRIGHT EYES! Yer back! Hey fellas! Bright Eyes is back! Bright Eyes!" At his yell there was a general stampede to get to the doorway. Snipeshooter didn't waste another minute and dashed to the figure in white. Bright Eyes threw down her suitcase and grasped the boy in a huge hug. The other boys stood in the doorway staring till Blink said, "Well, you boys jest gonna stand dere or are ya gonna say hello to yer friend?" The boys walked slowly as if in a dream to the girl. Jack stood in front of Bright Eyes, not saying a word. Then he took her by the shoulders and enveloped her in a huge hug. "I knew dat ya wouldn't stay away fer long Bright." He whispered. Then all the boys enveloped her in hugs and smacks on the back and exclamations of joy and disbelief.   
  
David shyly approached Bright Eyes and held out his hand. She looked at him with a large grin across her face and to his surprise, enveloped him in a huge hug. "Hey Mouth! How ya been?" She asked excitedly. David was thrown in to a shock and didn't say a word as he gazed upon her. She was back and life would be as it had been before. Whenever she came around, his tongue would be tied. Plus, why was she even speaking to him when the day before she left, she was yelling and screaming at him? Great, those feelings are also coming back. Goody. I thought I had gotten over her. Bright Eyes looked at him curiously, then whispered in his ear. "Davey, I'm sorry for yellin' an' stuff at ya dat day. I wasn't in me right mind. Will ya fergive me?" A surge of gratefullness and happiness went through David and he grinned. "Of course Bright Eyes! Of course!" Bright Eyes grinned.  
  
"Spot! Bright Eyes is back." Snipeshooter yelled, but the yell deteriorated as he gazed at the Brooklyn leader standing in the doorway. "Yeah, I kin see dat." Spot walked slowly towards Bright Eyes, the boys separating as he came, forming an aisle. Bright Eyes sighed uneasily as he approached. His gray eyes were as cold as ice and looked as though they could spit fire. When he stood directly in front of the girl, Spot stopped and examined her appearence. As he fingered a piece of lace on the collar, he scoffed at it mockingly. "So ya got bigga ain't ya Brighty? Nice clothes, a suitcase wit' some more clothes, well fed. Man Brighty, seems dat you've been livin' da high life of a scabba." He sneered.   
  
Bright Eyes eyes narrowed. "Spot Conlon. I didn't come back to be mocked by you and your anger." Spot laughed and turned to the boys. "She don't even got an accent no more! She even talks like a scabba!" Bright Eyes grabbed Spot's arm, that wrenched away from her as soon as it touched him. "I didn't come here to be mocked." She repeated softly. " I came back here, to be with you boys and to tell you that I'm sorry for leaving. But," "But ya had to. Right Bright?" Spot scowled. All the boys were silent as they watched the former friends combat in a battle of wits and staring combined.  
  
"Spot, I'm sorry dat I didn't tell ya. I ain't forgotten me accent an' I ain't fergotten you. I couldn't Spot. You an' da boys was all I had. I jest couldn't stay an' it wasn't cause of you don't ya undastand? I had ta or somebody would get hoit." Spot scoffed at her statements and stared her right in the eyes as he spoke. "Its too late fer dat sweetheart. Somebody, an' lots of somebodies have already gotten hoit. Ya don't deseaive ta be here. I don't want ya ta be here. Yer nothin' to da Newsies." With that final blow to the girl, Spot retreated to the upstairs bedroom quietly, not daring to look back at the girl's red face for fear that he should take it all back.   
  
Bright Eyes stood stock still, her chin trembling slightly as a lone tear rolled down her cheek. The boys were also silent, comprehending the argument and its significance. Spot Conlon, had renounced Bright Eyes as one of them. To him, she could never, ever be a Newsie again, unless of course he took it back. Racetrack stared at the girl with compassion at her loss. He knew that Spot was like a brother to her. He had been with her from the beginning and losing him was like dying while living to her. He knew the feeling of losing someone he loved. He had felt it today, and it had been redeemed by her coming, and seeing her in pain stabbed him to the heart. Jack patted Bright Eyes on the back. "Hey, he'll get ova it. C'mon an' eat wit' us. Lets don't let dis little incident spoil it." Bright Eyes nodded and patted his arm, her eyes searching for one beloved face. "Go ahead. I'll be there in a minute."   
  
The boys all retreated to the dining room as Bright Eyes moved her suitcase to the stairs leading to the bedroom, her eyes glancing quickly up them. "Bright?" Racetrack's sudden approach startled Bright Eyes. "Race, hello. I'm sorry 'bout everytin' an' all dat." She stuttered as he approached her. "Ya don't need ta say dat ta me. Ya don't have anythin' to apologize fer. I know dat ya did what ya had ta do, dats enough fer me. What 'bout you?" Bright Eyes smiled as the tears began to fall faster, splashing on her red cheeks. "I didn't want him to take dis so hard. I didn't know dat he would. I shouldn't have eva have come back." She sobbed. Racetrack smiled wistfully and lifted her chin slightly.   
  
"Do ya really tink dat? 'Cause I don't, an' neitha do da boys. I don't tink dat Bright." Racetrack whispered as the two edged closer and closer. "Really?" Bright Eyes whispered softly. "Really." Racetrack replied. "I missed you a lot Race." Bright Eyes whispered. "Me too." Bright Eyes then clasped her arms around the boy's neck in a fierce embrace. Racetrack held the girl close, finally satisfied that she was really here in his arms this time, and it wasn't just a dream any longer. Racetrack pulled Bright Eyes away and kissed her quickly before she even had time to react. They stood in the doorway only a few feet away from the mistletoe.   
  
Fish stood in the doorway of the dining room watching eagerly. Jack came up behind him and poked him in the stomach causing him to stifle a giggle. "Stop Cowboy! Look, Race is kissin' dat goil! An' dere not even unda da mistletoe neitha." Fish insisted as Jack picked him up in his arms and began to edge back into the dining room, closing the door as he went. When he reached the room, he sat Fish down and motioned for quiet. "Well, since Spots' mad, an' Bright Eyes an' Race have betta things ta do udda dan eat," he said, grinning, causing the other boys to poke their neighbors in realization at what was going on in the next room. "We'll say grace den! Who's gonna start?" Fish's hand went up instantly and waved furiously. When other hands became higher than his own, he stood on his chair and waved more, practically in Jack's face. "Hey Fish! Do ya know who should say grace?" Cowboy grinned, watching the look of despair on the boy's face. "You kin do it kid! Jest sit down will ya?" The boy sighed with relief at being chosen and plopped down in his chair.   
  
"Dear God, danks fer da food, fer Davey's mom an' dad, an' Sarah, an' fer Les comin' ova ta spend da night. Please bless all da boys an' keep us safe an' healthy durin' dis winta." At that moment, Racetrack and Bright Eyes snuck in and took their seats, faces flushing at the looks passed across the table. "Bless Race an' his goilfriend Bright," Fish started. "Hey kid! Dat ain't right! We ain't said anytin' 'bout dat!" Racetrack burst in. "Shudup Race. I's sayin' grace. Ya were kissin' anyway so dat makes her yer goilfriend." The boy replied smoothly. "Bless Blink tomorra as he goes out ta woik. An' bless all of us boys who is goin' out temorra ta sell papes. Let us have a good day. Bless all da Newsies in da Lodgin' House, in Brooklyn, da Bronx, Midtown, Queens," Fish's litany was intterupted by a look from Jack that cut him short. "Anyway, bless all da Newsies everywhere. Oh yeah, an' bless Spot, cause he's really mad at da nice goil named Bright Eyes whose wit' us as ya know. Make him come down fer dinner, an' don't let him be mad anymore. Amen." Fish finished. "Amen." The boys breathed a sigh of relief as the final word was spoken.   
  
Food was scooped onto plates and refilled as soon as they were emptied. All through the meal, the boys asked Bright Eyes about Chicago and what it was like. She told of the skyscrapers and the apartment buildings and hotels. Of the streets very much like New York and of the Newsboys there. "Dere jest like us. Dey've got a Lodgin' House an' all dat stuff. I did an article on 'em once. Almost won an award fer it. Fer my 'inside opinions on the world of the unfortunate' dey said." The boys laughed, except for the small children, who were still stuffing their faces. When she told of her sending her articles to the paper secretly and under a man's name so she wouldn't be found out, the boys laughed harder. "So Bright, besides dat ya couldn't live anotha day widout us, why did ya come back?" Jack asked. A shadow then came over Bright Eyes' face as she spoke. "I came back, ta take back whats mine, ta set things right, an' settle a few scores."   
  
The boys were silent as they watched the fires alight in their friend's eyes. "Well, if ya guys are all done, I wouldn't feel adverse to a game of poka!" Bright Eyes remarked slyly, eyeing Racetrack. The boys yelled with excitement. Chairs were pushed back, places were cleared and the dishes set in the sink, and all paraded into the living room where a round table had been a new addition to the Lodging House. The boys sat down and Racetrack pulled out his deck of cards and began to shuffle them as they waited for Bright, due to the fact that she insisted that she get out of her dress before they played. As they were getting ready to begin, the shadowy figure of Spot was seen walking down the staircase. All activity stopped save for Bright Eyes walking into the room, dress under her arm, Newsie clothes on. "Hey Spot! Wanna play a hand?" Racetrack asked, smiling for all he was worth. Spot shook his head slowly. "No, I'll watch. I'll bring me food in here." He then made his way to the kitchen, making sure not to make eye contact with Bright Eyes as he went.  
  
Racetrack shrugged and dealt the cards among the players, who consisted of, Jack, Bright Eyes, Racetrack, Kid Blink and Mush. The first hand went quickly. Racetrack won the jackpot, which at the moment had held five dollars even. Bright Eyes eyed Racetrack suspiciously as he eagerly scooped the money into his hat, which he sat on after all the money had been deposited. "Race, I don't tink its my imagination, but I do believe dat you was cheatin' dat time." Racetrack stared at Bright Eyes in mock horror. "Me? Why da heck would ya tink dat I would cheat at, at, poka? Da idea is unthinkable of me especially!" Bright Eyes sighed and rolled her eyes as the boys smacked each other knowingly, sniggering at Racetrack's mock innocence. "Yeah Race. If ya didn't cheat, den it must be a special night!" The boys laughed as Racetrack sighed and dealt the next hand.   
  
Ten hands were played in all. Racetrack won the first, Bright Eyes, Racetrack, Bright Eyes, and so alternating through the hands, the other boys winning here and there. Finally it was down to the last hand. The jackpot was counted. It contained a sum of ten dollars and five cents, a huge amount for the Lodging House, the most money coming from Bright Eyes and Racetrack's pockets. As the hand was beginning, Racetrack leaned over the table and grinned at Bright Eyes as he spoke, "I wanna place a bet, an' I want da udda boys at da table ta place bets on who ya tink will win. Me or Bright?" He sat down with a grin as the boys talked among themselves. Jack stood up. "Okay Race, we'll bet on ya's, but ya hafta do whateva we bet fer, undastood?" Racetrack shrugged. "Sure." Spot glanced devilishly towards Mush, Blink and Jack who were whispering eagerly to themselves and joined them.  
  
Finally the hand began. The bets were to be kept a secret until the winner was announced. Sweat drops began to form on the foreheads of the main contestants, the others having all dropped out. Racetrack sighed. "Okay, I wanna fold." All the boys craned their necks to see his cards as he laid them down. "Two pair, aces." He said smugly. All the boys stared at each other in amazement. Bright Eyes stared Racetrack in the eyes as she set her cards down, the boys gasping as she did. On the table her cards showed all spades. Racetrack sat backwards in disbelief as Bright Eyes gathered the money into her hat happily. "Sorry Race, ya snooze ya lose!"   
  
Jack grinned at Bright Eyes as he spoke. "Yeah, but dere's still a small matta dat we need ta dissolve. Da bets?" Racetrack glanced at Jack uneasily. "Okay, hit me wit' 'em." In the seat next to Jack, Mush and Blink sat sniggering. "Well, it was Tenor's idea. He bet dat Race wouldn't kiss his supposed "goilfriend" in front of everybody." Jack said smiling broadly at Racetrack. "Well he's right, 'cus I ain't gonna." Racetrack said stubbornly. "Who's a fraidy cat now boys?" Tenor questioned, jokingly. The boys laughed as Racetrack's face grew red. "I don't care what ya say. I won't do it!" Racetrack said firmly. The boys then glanced at Bright Eyes, their eyes pleading that she play along for a good show. Bright Eyes shrugged nonchalantly. "He's da man of da poka table. If he says no, den he means no."  
  
The boy's frowned and began to pester Racetrack to change his mind, and as he continued to refuse, the boys fell silent until Spot spoke up. "I gots a bet of me own dat I wanna share." The boy's ears pricked up at the Brooklyn leader as he gazed at Bright Eyes as he spoke. "I bet, dat Bright Eyes won't tell why she left us. She probably neva will eitha." As Bright Eyes stared at Spot, she saw the glimmers of hatred and pain in his gray eyes. She sighed. "Dats anotha ting I cain't do Spot. You'll jest hafta wait till da time is right." Racetrack stared at the two, biting his lip as he watched the tug of war play between them, Brooklyn leader against his childhood friend and confidant.  
  
He couldn't stand it. Racetrack stood up, totally took Bright Eyes by surprise and dragged her up out of her seat towards the mistletoe. When he had her directly underneath the plant, Bright Eyes protested. "What in da woild are ya doin'?" Racetrack lifted her head so that the mistletoe was in her plain sight and then kissed her gently. The boys broke out in cheers. "Well, dey kept one of da bets Spot. It'll jest be a matta of time 'fore da udda one is fulfilled!" Jack told his friend, who surveyed the scene with a stone face. "Yeah right. She won't eva tell an' I wouldn't hold yer breath Cowboy. She jest doesn't care" Spot remarked cooly.  
  
After the boys had left their admiring circle from around Racetrack and Bright Eyes, the girl turned to the boy, eyeing the mischief still dancing in his brown eyes. "Why did ya do dat?" Racetrack grinned. "I hated ta see you an' Spot havin' at each udda an' I didn't want us ta be labled cowards ta boot! Lets jest say dat I lessened yer load a little." Bright Eyes smiled and turned away, stepping on a chair nearby, eyeing Spot, who was heading towards the door. "If I may have everyone's attention, dat includes you Spot." She remarked pointedly. Spot stopped and stood in the doorway, arms folded. "Temorra, is Christmas. An' Christmas isn't really Christmas, widout presents. Well I've got sometin' in my big bag which shall remain hidden till temorrow."   
  
A long groan broke around the room. "But if ya go ta sleep NOW, instead of lata, we kin have 'em in da mawnin'." Bright Eyes reasoned. The boys glaced at each other and then ran up the stairs, the sounds of the beds creaking as they jumped into them resounding throughout the house. Spot was the only one who didn't dash up the stairs in a frenzy. Instead he merely sauntered up the stairs, gazing cooly at Bright Eyes as he went. Bright Eyes shook her head. "Well, ya gonna go ta bed too or what?" Racetrack asked curiously. "Well I don't know. Did ya boys keep me room fer me?" Bright Eyes asked hopefully. "Sure! Cowboy insisted, an' me an' Blink an' some of da udda boys backed him up. Dat was afta Spot tried ta snitch it." Bright Eyes rolled her eyes and walked up the stairs with Racetrack.   
  
"Afta you." Racetrack said softly as he opened the door. Everything was as it had been before she left. Bright Eyes smiled in remembrance and walked in. She then turned and smiled at Racetrack gratefully. "Tell Jack thanks, won't ya?" Racetrack returned the smile, and gently touched her face. "Sure. I'm really glad yer back Bright. Really I am. Before ya go ta sleep though, I tink dis is yers." With that, Racetrack pulled off the silver band off of his ring finger and gave it to the girl, who gave a small gasp of surprise. "You didn't lose it? Ya kept it?" Racetrack smiled. "Course I did. Saved it fer ya. Night Bright Eyes." Bright Eyes leaned across the threshold and kissed him on the cheek, then closed the door quietly.   
  
Racetrack practically waltzed to his bed and collapsed on it, shaking the whole structure. "Hey, will ya keep it down? I'm tryin' ta get ta sleep so dat mawnin' will come soona!" Blink whispered harshly to Racetrack, who was lying in bed grinning like a fool. "Aw, will ya cut me some slack! I jest feel like me heart skyrocketed to da sky an' won't eva come back down!" Blink grimaced and leaned down over the side of the bed. "I ate turkey an' stuff Race. What did you eat? Yer cigars stale or sometin'?" Racetrack grinned and smacked Blink in the face with his cap and rolled over in his bed, sleep coming almost instantly, something that hadn't happened to him for a long time.  
  
Spot Conlon lay spread out on his bed under Jack's bunk, wide awake. He couldn't go to sleep without guilt pricking his consience ever so slightly every time he tried to drift off.   
  
I treated her like I shoulda! She don't deseaive ta be here, like I said. An' I won't take it back no matta what da boys say! She don't deseive my fergivness most of all. How kin da boys jest fergive an' ferget like dat? She abandoned dem an' didn't even say goodbye! An' she was my best friend, so if anyone should be fergivin' her its me! So why cain't I? Oh God, make da hoit go away! Ain't it enough dat ya've got me whole family an' Fish? Ain't it enough dat ya gave me such a proud concsience dat I cain't fergive a goil who's practically me sista? Oh God, jest make da pain go away! Please, make it go away!   
  
As a tear slid down the boy's cheek, he turned over on his side and cried softly, consumed in his grief and the pain that he knew Bright Eyes was feeling on his account.  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. A Perfect Plan

  
Morning came quickly for the boys. As soon as one woke up, he woke up his neighbor and he woke up his neighbor and so on and so forth. The group of boys who were already up, sat at the top of the stairs waiting for the others and craning their necks so as to try to get a glimpse of the downstairs wonderland. The older boys were awakened by the younger ones, teasing them by rolling over and refusing to get up. But when they were finally all awake, they stood on the top of the stairs, waiting for the signal. "OKAY! ITS ALL CLEAR!" A female voice yelled, starting a stampede of boys running down the stairs.  
  
What they saw shocked them. Under the tree was thoroughly bare. Bright Eyes, Kloppman, Sarah, and Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs sat nearby, sipping tea and looking thoroughly amused. "Alright Bright! Dis is mighty cruel! If dere's no presents," Jack began, frustration edging his voice. Bright Eyes laughed. "Ya boys gotta find me bag wit all da stuff in it foist." She said carelessly. The boys quickly spread out, searching every nook and cranny. They didn't have long to wait, for Fish had wisely gone around the room, crawling on his hands and knees, finding it in a very easy place. "ITS HERE! UNDA HER CHAIR!!" came the call.  
  
The boys gathered round Bright Eyes chair, who patted Fish's head and pulled out a small package. "Since you found the bag, you my friend get the honor of opening the first present." Bright Eyes said proudly as the paper on the package was ripped by the tiny hands. Inside was a miniature locomotive engine, painted in bright, bold colors. The boy stared at it in delight and awe, then threw his chubby arms around Bright Eyes' neck, surprising her. "Danks so much Bright Eyes! I ain't eva had such a wondaful gift in me whole life!" Bright Eyes arms went around the small boy as she drew him up in her lap. Almost as an afterthought, the boy whispered into her ear, "Kin I take ya fer me mudda? Spot's me brudda, but I've always wanted ta have a mudda, dat I could rememba. Please Bright?" Tears slid uncontrollably out of the girl's eyes as she squeezed the boy closer to her. "Sure ya kin. I'd be honored." She whispered softly.  
  
The room was silent, partially because of the seriousness of the moment and partially because they couldn't wait to get their own presents. Finally Bright Eyes wiped her eyes and motioned to a certain package on top of the stack. Fish grinned and picked it up, giving it to Jack. "Dis is fer you Cowboy!" He exclaimed. The boys crowded round Jack as he eagerly tore into it, Sarah watching him intently. Out of the mounds of shredded paper, came a black leather hat, with a tall brown feather sticking out of it. When it was turned upside down, a slip of paper fell out of the bottom. Jack picked it up and gazed lovingly at the small drawing of a sunset and a desert, with the words "Santa Fe" written carefully across the top. "I didn't know where I was gonna go when I left, so I hitched meself a ride on a train an' dat was one of da stops. I had ta sketch dat an' git ya da hat, knowing dat ya've always wanted ta go dere." Bright Eyes said modestly. Jack plopped the hat on his head, and grabbed her hand and kissed it. "Thank ya me lady fer yer kindness." Bright Eyes smiled seeing behind the sarcasm of the comment, the true gratefullness that he felt.  
  
"Aw don't git all lovey dovey on us! Lets jest open da rest of 'em!" Blink protested loudly. Bright Eyes laughed and began to distribute the presents to the grinning boys. Racetrack's eyes gazed at the packs of cards from every gambling place that Bright Eyes had been in admiration, along with the programs from the races in St. Louis and Chicago. Crutchy accepted the small medal with the Blessed Mother etched on its surface with awe, while leaning on his much sturdier pine crutch. Mush practically squealed with the delight of the new shoes and matching black laces, causing laughs to explode around the room. Snipeshooter immediately dug into his Havanna cigars and his very own pack of cards. David attempted to put on the new red and blue bowtie, but was forced to ask for help, causing Sarah to laugh at him. Kid Blink carefully put on the new blue shirt, admiring himself in the reflection of the mirror.  
  
The laughter seemed like a curse to Spot Conlon, as he sat with a fake smile on his face as he watched Fish play with his engine.   
  
I shoulda known dat dere wouldn't be a present fer me! Why did I even get me hopes up? He thought viscously to himself.   
  
But just then a shadow passed in front of him. When Spot looked up, the figure of Bright Eyes stood in front of him holding a large box. "Who's dat fer?" Spot questioned, trying not to sound curious. Bright Eyes smiled and pulled up a chair. "Well Spot, its fer you." Spot started and gazed at Bright Eyes suspiciously. "Jest fer me? No one else?" Bright Eyes laughed and she set the box on the boy's lap. "Jest fer you. Open it!" She said excitedly.  
  
The boys gathered around as Spot carefully unwrapped the paper from around the box. Then he slowly lifted up the lid and stared. The contents weren't many, but were enough to cause the color to drain from Spot's cheeks. He turned to Bright Eyes. "Where'd ya find 'em?" Bright Eyes smiled as she gazed at her friend. "I was doin' a little research of me own while I was in Chicago." Spot turned his attention back to the box and began to shuffle around in it, lifting the contents out one by one and gazing at them fondly. A business card lay on the bottom of the box. Spot picked it up and read the inscription.   
  
  
Mr. John M. Conlon  
Business Industrialist  
6104 Central Ave.   
New York, New York 67943  
  
  
  
Spot slipped the business card into his pocket and now began to take up the items of the box and finger them one by one. Inside there was an odd collection of things, a top hat, a pair of once white satin gloves, an opera glass with one eye missing, a small little doll, with smudges covering her china face, but the smile still brilliant as in the olden days. There was also a straw hat, with a faux flower perched in the side, a picture of revolutionary soldiers and a small faded train engine, its colors worn off by loving play.   
  
When Spot picked up one of the gloves, a slip of paper fell out of the inside. When Spot picked it up, he gave a little moan to himself. It was a photograph. There was a tall, stern looking man, but with eyes that looked like they could be full of mischief when they wanted to be, a rather short, but beautiful woman with fair hair, her arm around her eldest son, who was tall like his father. There were two girls, one in her teens, with dark curly hair falling over her shoulders, the other girl who was younger, had rather fair hair, also falling over her shoulders, with a straw hat perched atop her head. An impish smile was etched across her face, her hand in the lap of a little boy sitting by her side. The boy was small, with elvish features, a grin spread across his face, his slightly snubbed nose wrinkled with the grin. "That boy looks familiar Spot. Who is he?" Fish asked curiously. Spot took a deep breath. "Dat kid's name was Michael. Dems his ma and dad, an' his brudda Francis an' his sistas Martha an' Janey." Spot said, as he fondly touched the blonde haired girl's face.  
  
"What happened to 'em?" Fish asked. Spot stared unseeing for a few moments before he spoke again, in a small quavering voice. "Dey're all dead." Fish gasped and grabbed Spot's limp hand. "Even da little boy?" Spot nodded a lone tear falling off his cheek. "Even da little boy." Spot turned to Bright Eyes. "Where did ya get dis?" Bright Eyes smiled almost sadly as she spoke. "Dat was all dat was left. It was jest in da vault waitin' fer someone ta claim it." Spot stood up and carried the box upstairs with him, the rest of the boys staring after him.  
  
"What was all dat stuff, Mama?" Fish asked as he spun the wheels on his engine. "It was his stuff. His family's stuff." Fish stared at her in confusion. "But Spot said that they were all dead. Even da little boy!" Bright Eyes smiled wistfully. "That little boy is dead Fish. He changed greatly." Suddenly the front door slammed, surprising all the people in the room. Snipeshooter ran to the window. "Its Spot! He's leavin'!" Fish's eyes widened in horror. "He didn't tell me good-bye!" Fish ran out the front door, leaving his coat behind. Jack raced up and followed him, Bright Eyes and the others following Jack's lead.   
  
Fish raced across the snow and ice of the front yard with reckless abandon, his one focus on the figure ahead, holding the large box. "Spot! Spot! Wait fer me! Ya didn't say good-bye!" Spot either didn't hear, or he refused to hear, for he kept walking. Fish ran into the road, dodging and barely missing a carriage as he went, the driver yelling. Suddenly, Spot turned, and at the same moment Fish crossed an icy stretch in the sidewalk near a large hill. The boy's feet flew out from under him, his head impacting hard on the cement, his lifeless body rolling down the snowy hill. A strangled cry came from Spot as he slid down the hill, Bright Eyes, Jack and the rest doing the same. The boy was resting in Spot's arms when they reached the bottom, Spot's coat covering his body, Spot's cold, red hands trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood coming from the boy's head.  
  
Bright Eyes slid down beside the boy and felt the smaller boy's pulse. It was still beating strongly. Bright Eyes' expert hands then felt through the dark head of hair, trying to find the wound. She found it. It was not a large cut, but still one that needed attention, attention that she knew how to give. She touched Spot's arm tenderly. "He's gonna be okay Spot. Its nothin' much. He'll be okay."   
  
Spot gazed at the girl, his eyes glazed over. "Its my fault. I didn't stop to say goodbye. Its my fault. Everything. Fish dyin'. Momma an' Dad dyin'. Even Martha, Francis, an' Janey. I didn't even say goodbye ta them eitha!" Spot stood up quickly as if to emphasize his words. "Now look at me! It'll be my fault if he dies! Mine all mine! Jest like normal! I was mad at Momma dat day! Ya wanna know why? Because she wouldn't let me go ta Brooklyn ta see a friend! So I left anyway an' slammed da door an' didn't care if I said goodbye or not! I came back, an' da place was boined to da ground! It was all my fault!" Spot stepped back as if in a dream, then took off, running across the snow as fast as he could without tripping. "Spot! Come back! Please." Bright Eyes' yell slowly deteriorated when she realized that he wouldn't stop. The body in her arms moaned and turned on his side, asleep. "C'mon, les git dis kid back to da Lodgin' House an' git him bandaged up." Bright Eyes said as she shouldered the boy gently and stood up, accompanying the boys back home, Racetrack's reassuring arm on her back.  
  
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The boys didn't see Spot for a long time afterwards. A few went to Brooklyn and inquired about him, but the boys would shrug their shoulders and say that he was out. "He's always out!" Jack grumbled after his tenth visit and attempt to see the Brooklyn leader. Fish had long since recovered from his injury, and was anxious to tell Spot so. But because of his stubborness, the Newsies were at an impasse with Brooklyn. So, they went back to their all day duty, carryin' the banner and sellin' the papes.  
  
Bright Eyes stayed low, working only a few hours a day. "Why aren't ya woikin' days Bright? Its kinda weird da way ya jest sit around da house afta you've finished sellin'." Racetrack commented. "I gotta do dis. I'm plannin' sometin' big." She would reply, saying nothing more. She was certainly planning something, for at times she didn't even emerge from her room in the morning till about noon. Then she would eat lunch and sell papers for a few hours, then go home. Whenever any of the boys asked what she was doing in her room, she would smile sweetly and threaten to hit them so hard she would knock their socks off if they tried to get in. The boys knew that she would never do it, but still they weren't that curious.   
  
Finally one morning, Bright Eyes walked out of her room at the waking hours. The boys stared. Bright Eyes was again dressed in what they called, "scabba clothes." Under one arm she held a suitcase, under the other she held a fashionable umbrella. "What da heck are you doin'?" Kid Blink blurted out. "Nothin'. Jest workin' wit' me plan. I'll see ya tenite." With that said, Bright Eyes practically waltzed out the door, waving as she did so. The boys stared at each other, then resumed their duties, trusting that Bright Eyes knew what she was doing.  
  
Bright Eyes gave a sigh of relief and put up the parasol with look of disgust. "Who needs da stupid tings, when ya got skin ta obsorb da sun? Whateva, gotta look da part I guess." Bright Eyes walked daintily to the downtown area, where she walked around the stores until exactly 8:00. When the bells began to chime the hour, she headed toward the large building, with the beautiful golden ball atop its spire. Inside the building, it was rather hot and musty. There was a front desk with a large, burly man sitting at it, shoving papers around.   
  
Bright Eyes gulped and walked up to the man. "Excuse me sir?" The man looked up and smiled. "Yes missy, what kin I do fer ya?" Bright Eyes nodded. "I would like to speak with Mr. Pulitzer please, on account of his searching for a journalist to write an article for a few weeks time, until his and Mr. Hearst's reporters get back from India I believe the paper said." The man smiled wanly. "Yeah, but I'm afraid he didn't mean women." Bright Eyes colored. "I do not understand your meaning. I have rights. I am a professional journalist. I have written papers in St. Louis, Boston, and Chicago. I assure you of this. My papers." With that she shoved a handful of papers into the man's hands which he accepted readily.  
  
"Miss Anne "Andy" McClaen, eh? I mighta heaid of you. The last name sounds familiar anyway. An' who knows? Maybe Pulizer has too. Excuse me for a minute." The man walked to the back of his office and up some stairs. Bright Eyes took the opportunity to locate all of the doors in and out of the place, making sure of herself. The man walked back down the stairs and motioned to her. "This way miss." Bright Eyes breathed deeply, then followed the man up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she saw that it was much cooler, due to all the open windows, and it was also much nicer than downstairs. Bright Eyes walked past rooms where men were eagerly writing their stories one by one and sending them to the presses to be printed.   
  
Finally, the two reached two large elaborately designed wooden doors with brass knobbs. The man opened it and Bright Eyes walked in alone. As she entered the room, the man at the desk stood, the other man in a chair nearby remained seated. The man at the desk spoke first, in a rather raspy tone of voice. "My dear Miss McClaen. An honor to finally meet you in person. I am Joseph Pulitzer and this is Seitz. I would like it if you would take a seat please." Bright Eyes sat smiling at Pulitzer, who had changed in the last year. His hair and beard were a tad white, wrinkles were overtaking his face. Seitz on the other hand had not changed in the slightest.   
  
"I hope that you will not find me rude by coming and asking for this section of your paper Mr. Pulitzer. I mean it is truly rather silly, that I a woman ask to have a part in your paper." Bright Eyes said modestly. Pulitzer nodded. "I wondered that myself. But I have read your work Miss McClaen, under your false name Andy McClaen, and I quite like your style. Now suppose you wrote the column from your home and then sent it to me with the name 'Andy' instead of Anne on them, we might have a deal. Of course you understand the special circumstances I'm stating don't you?" Bright Eyes nodded. "Of course. You don't want your paper to fail because a woman is writing a section of your paper." Pulitzer nodded. "Precisely! Precisely! Will that do for you Miss McClaen?" Bright Eyes stood and curtsied. "Of course Mr. Pulitzer. And thank you again. I shall have the first entry written by tomorrow." With that Bright Eyes exited the room.  
  
"Well Seitz. That was the famous 'Andy McClaen.' Charming girl I think. What do you think?" Seitz sighed and stood. "Well if you really want my opinion sir?" Pulitzer nodded. "I think I've seen her somewhere before. I can't place where though. I have seen her before." Pulitzer shrugged. "I don't know Seitz. I'm sure I've never seen her before and unless you're seeing people behind my back, well I think you're mistaken." Seitz nodded, though Pulitzer could see that he was still not convinced. "You're wrong Seitz. That girl is going to make me famous. And even better than Willy Hearst, remember that Seitz. And Willy won't have a clue what is going on!"  
  
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Spot Conlon laid sprawled out on his bed, absentmindedly toying with his slingshot. The afternoon and morning papers were sold, and the evening papers were in the printing press. Spot sighed and tossed the slingshot in the box he kept under his bed. He sat up and stretched then laid back down again. He was restless. Spot wanted to have some fun with the boys, but he wanted to share it with the Manhattan boys, and maybe even the lone Manhattan/Brooklyn girl. But since Fish's accident, Spot refused to visit, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that Fish had to be dead. He had seen the blood. The small boy's fate had been signed in that blood, that was all there was to it, and it was his fault.   
  
Sure, he had heard that Fish had in fact lived from the runners that came through from Manhattan, but Spot figured that they had to be mistaken. The same thing had happened to the older Fish. Fish had been the former leader of the Brooklyn Newsies and a surrogate father to young Spot. Fish had fallen and hit his head during an attack with some other bigger and stronger newsboys. Spot had ran to him and tried to stop the bleeding, just as he had done with the younger Fish. He hadn't helped him and the older Fish had died. This was the same situation, and he believed it was his fault again, and nothing would convince him otherwise. Runners are usually wrong about information anyway. Spot thought. A knock on the door sounded, drawing a sigh out of Spot. "Whaddya want? Tell da guys dat I ain't goin' ta Gus's fer food tenite. I'll jest stay here! Ya got dat?"  
  
The door creaked open. "Yeah, I got dat Spot. An' I'll tell 'em, but I tink dat dey'll be mighty disappointed." Spot jumped at the sound of the feminine voice coming from the doorway. "Go 'way Bright. I don't wanna talk, AT ALL!" Spot said firmly. Bright Eyes nodded and entered anyway. "Look Bright, I know what yer gonna say. Fish is dead an' dere's nothin' else to say. I already know. So go back to yer dear Manhattan, that ya HAD ta go to all those years ago! Jest go! Yer happier dere dan here wit' me anyway." Spot said sullenly.  
  
Bright Eyes sighed and plopped herself on the bed next to Spot, who scooted a few inches away from her. "Look Spot, lets face it. I need you an' you need me. Ain't dat da way its always been? Eva since we was little, we knew dat we needed each udda ta get trough each day. Jest te know dat eitha one of us was close by was enough to make us feel safer an' betta about ourselves. Don't end it on dis Spot. I need ya, even if ya think dat ya don't need me." During this time, Spot's gray-blue eyes stared stormily into nothingness, and as she spoke they softened. "I don't need nobody." Spot said, but not with as much emphasis as before. "Yeah ya do. An' da soona ya admit dat da betta. It ain't good fer dat hot pride ya got boinin' in yer chest. Listen now. Fish ain't dead an' he ain't gonna die any time soon, God ferbid." At that Spot's eyes closed momentarily as if in thought. "I ain't gonna say yes or no if I need ya or not Bright. You accept dat." Although Spot meant to sound determined in his decision, Bright Eyes could tell that he was gradually weakening.   
  
"Okay, dats all right. I'll accept dat. But I do need ya fer a little scheme I've got up me sleeve." Spot turned to her, questioningly. "I's woikin' fer Pulitzer," She began as Spot interrupted. "Well 'corse ya are! Ain't we all woikin' fer dat miser?" Bright Eyes rolled her eyes. "Don't interrupt! 'Memba when I came back an' I said dat I was a journalist?" Spot's forehead furrowed in thought. " Yeah. How could I ferget?" He answered uneasily. "Well I's woikin, woikin' fer him! I's a journalist unda a fake name fer him!" Spot nearly jumped off the bed in surprise. "What? You'se doin' what?" Bright Eyes laughed and pulled him back down to a sitting position. "I's woikin' fer him. Now listen, I's got an idea fer dis guy, but I cain't do it widout you. Now listen." As Bright Eyes whispered into the Brooklyn leader's ear, his eyes twinkled mischieviously and the old, energetic spark came back into his eyes as he listened closely to his friend's devisings  
  
  



	3. The Unity

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The next morning, Bright Eyes told the Manhattan boys her plan. When she told them of her new occupation though, there was chaos. "What da heck ya tink yer doin'? Woikin' fer Pulitzer like dat? I mean, does he know who ya are?" Racetrack insisted. "No he doesn't have a clue. He's still caught up in beatin' Willy Heaist. Now listen, I cain't do dis widout you boys. I even got Spot ta help me, so kin I trust dat you'll do da same?" There was silence. "Sure we trust ya Bright. Hit us wit' yer plan!" Racetrack burst out, his shout followed by the other's shouts. "Okay, but it ain't gonna be pretty, an' you boys have gotta try out dose actin' skills." The boys looked at each other slyly and grinned.  
  
After the meeting, Jack, Racetrack, Boots and Kid Blink went to Brooklyn, while the rest of the boys stayed and sold their papers, with a constant grin on their faces. Bright Eyes went to the World and turned in her article. The article contained the views of the people on the Newsies and orphans in their city. She stated, that they were merely illiterate, lying, cheating, argumentative street rats with no other purpose than to burden others and make money to feed themselves, when they could actually try to get a real, paying job. Pulitzer was thrilled. "This is wonderful! If you can write more of these, I'll print them! I don't care! This is a perfect view on our society today!" And Pulitzer ordered it to be put on the front page rather than in the middle of the paper. "Let those Newsies see this! Ha! At least now they'll now that somebody else holds my opinions." Pulitzer gloated to Seitz, who merely rolled his eyes and sat back further in his chair.  
  
When Bright Eyes walked out of the World building later that afternoon, she was met with dozens of angry scowls. There were dozens of Newsies standing straight and tall, their arms folded across their chests. Bright Eyes attempted to walk around the boys, but boy after boy stood in her way. Finally, Mush stepped right in front of her, blocking her path. He looked off to the side and noticed a police officer standing near the spot. He grinned and spoke louder than usual. "Where do ya think yer goin' Bright?" Bright Eyes looked troubled as she gazed into the burly boy's angry brown eyes, then glanced to the police officer and spoke loudly. "I was gonna go git sometin' ta eat. Is dat okay?" Mush sniggered. "You won't be eatin' anytin' but doit Bright, afta we're through wit' ya!" Bright Eyes eyed him. "Don't overdo it." She muttered two seconds too late. Mush's fist connected with her jaw and Bright Eyes, umbrella and all, was knocked to the ground. As Mush raised his fist for a second time, he paused, the sound of a police whistle coming to his ears. "Cheese it! Its da bulls!" The boys scattered every which way, leaving Bright Eyes in the dust, fingering her swollen jaw.   
  
"Are you all right miss?" The policeman queried as he helped Bright Eyes to her feet. She scowled in the direction that Mush had gone and rolled her eyes. "I'll be allright soon I think officer. I just need a cup of tea I think. And some ice for this bruise." The policeman looked at her curiously. "Don't you want to press charges against those boys?" Bright Eyes shook her head. "No, it just proves what Mr. Pulitzer's paper said I suppose. Those Newsies are just street rats. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll get that cup of tea now." The policeman looked after her curiously, then went up to a small newsboy and requested a paper.  
  
The city was in an uproar over the article. Some were thrilled with it, others were shocked. David Jacobs was astonished. He hadn't been there for the meeting about the plan between the boys and Bright Eyes. He hadn't seen the boys since Christmas. But he did know who Andy McClaen was. He just couldn't believe that Bright Eyes would write such a thing. He unbelievingly bought a paper on his way home from school and showed his family. The Jacobs and the citizens weren't the only people angry about the article. Fights between newsboys began to break out all over the city, convincing the unbelievers of the truth of the article. The fights weren't terrible, but the worst was yet to come.  
  
After Bright Eyes finished rubbing lotion on the bruise on her cheek, she emerged from her room in the Lodging House. She walked down to Central Park and strolled among the budding trees happily. As she walked home, a sound reminded her of what had occured that afternoon. Actually it was more of a group of sounds, the cacophony  
of boys yelling and screaming. She ran towards the sound and her eyebrows raised at what she saw. The distribution office was a wreck, papers were flying everywhere. Boys were throwing punches right and left. It was Brooklyn. As Bright Eyes' wide eyes ran over the scene, she saw Jack Kelly lying on the ground, with Spot Conlon on his stomach, smacking his face repeatedly. Bright Eyes ran to Jack and attempted to pull Spot off of him.   
  
Spot's hand in turn, flew backwards and caught Bright Eyes in the mouth. She grasped it in pain and threw a punch toward the Brooklyn leader's head. Her hit struck home and Spot howled in pain, and turned to Bright Eyes. The two Newsies fought tooth and nail, their arms grasping at each other for an advantage to put the other to the ground. At one point in the fight, Spot grinned and held Bright Eyes' arms away from his face protectively. "Havin' fun Bright?" Bright Eyes returned the grin and pushed his arms away from her face. "Neva had so much fun Conlon!" Bright Eyes grappled with each other for the rest of the fight that was soon broken up by the police. The Manhattan boys struggled to their feet, while Brooklyn took off as the police surrounded them.  
  
Bright Eyes ran to Racetrack as the policemen went around asking questions about the fight. "What was goin' on?" Racetrack shrugged and wiped up the fresh blood flowing from his lip. "Spot was frustrated 'bout yer article, an' when Jack told him to fergit about it, Spot goes fer his throat. An' da rest is histry." Bright Eyes ran her hands through her hair nervously. "I don't undastand it. He knows dat its jest an' article. So do you boys. But Mush gave me dis dis aftanoon. He's doin' too good at da plan." Bright Eyes said, motioning to the bruise on her cheek. Racetrack touched it gently. "It doesn't look too bad." Bright Eyes winced and caught the boy's hand as it drew away. "It hoits though." Racetrack grinned and grasped her hand tenderly. "Don't worry 'bout it an' it'll go away soon enough."   
  
That evening, the Newsies who did not know the plan did not speak to her. Angry glances were tossed across the room as she walked in the door, but none of them touched her, Jack having placed his protection on her. It was an ordeal for Bright Eyes at dinner also, for when she asked anyone to pass her food, she was ignored by everyone, save Racetrack, Kid Blink, Fish, Jack and a few others. When she stepped out of her seat, she was tripped by Snoddy, who laughed in his hands while she picked herself off the floor. He had half expected her to smack him, but she didn't. She merely stood up straight and tall, her teeth clenched and walked out of the room to her bedroom to write her article for the next day.  
  
When Racetrack picked up the morning paper and gazed at the headlines, he shook his head sadly. The next article was even worse than before, slamming the Newsies right and left, only she stated that perhaps the senators and other men in power should do something to help them. The paper reported that fights in the streets were now becoming a common thing. Even school children would come back into the school house with bloody noses and bruised faces for coming near one of these fights. Younger children, even Newsie children were coming home with sprained wrists and ankles, one young boy even suffering a broken arm. It was on this occasion that Jack Kelly decided that he had to go to Brooklyn and see if things could be patched up.  
  
When he arrived, he was met by a guard of over twenty boys, each with a purpose. "Heya boys! I came ta see Spot. Is he available?" Jack asked, forcing a smile. A large burly boy named Jass stepped closer to Jack with a smirk. "Brooklyn ain't seein' anyone right now. Dat includes Spot. You'll jest hafta come back at a lata date, eh Cowboy?" Jack smiled and wiped his forehead, placing his hat on his head. "Look, I gotta see Spot. Its 'bout unitin' wit' dis whole newspapa ting. We ain't happy 'bout it neitha. We wanna join wit' ya's." Jack insisted. Jass rolled his eyes. "Let me tell ya in plain english. SPOT AIN'T GONNA," "Spot ain't gonna what?" A cool voice remarked from behind Jass. When the surprised boy turned around, he saw that a path had been cleared by the boys and in the middle of this path, stood Spot Conlon, his arms on his chest.   
  
"Well, Spot, I," Jass stuttered. "I tol' ya ta tell me whoeva wanted ta talk to me. 'Specially if it was 'bout unitin'. Didn't I say dat Jass?" Jass hung his head sheepishly and nodded. "What? I didn't hear ya!" Spot remarked. "Yeah, Spot. An' I'm sorry." Spot nodded, dismissing the boys out of hearing. Spot sauntered over to Jack, spit on his hand and offered it to Jack with a grin. Thankfully, Jack took the offered hand. "So, whatcha want wit' Brooklyn Cowboy?" Jack eased himself on top of a wooden crate and lit a cigarette.  
  
"I think ya know don't ya?" Spot smiled. "Yeah. Dat article dat me dearest friend wrote 'bout us. She cain't rightly do dis can she Cowboy? I mean, I know dat it's da plan an' all, but still. She's crossed da line. Again." Jack shrugged and blew a puff of smoke from his mouth. "She kin do whateva she wants. She's woikin' fer Pulitzer." Spot began to pace back and forth in front of the crates. "Dats anotha thing I don't undastand. Why da heck would she woik fer him? Afta all da things he's done to us Newsies. I don't see how you kin put yer protection on her Jacky boy." Jack looked up at Spot and grinned. "I can. 'Cause if I didn't put my protection on her dere wouldn't be anythin' left of her afta da boys roughed her up!" Spot smiled, then frowned. "Yeah, I guess. So ya wanna unite den?" Jack nodded. "Well consider Manhattan an' Brooklyn united. Wheneva ya need us, jest send a runner trough. We'll git through dis togeda." Jack and Spot spit shook.   
  
"Ya know Spot, ya could jest cut da kid a little slack. You know she ain't doin' nothin'." As Jack spoke amiably, Spot's head shot up and his gaze spat fire. "I gave her a chance, she didn't tell me anythin' so its her problem if she don't have no friends. Ya cain't make me say uddawise." Spot drew himself up proudly. "Brooklyn has said all he's gonna say on da subject of Bright Eyes O'Connor. Her name has been rubbed off da walls so ta speak. So jest drop it Cowboy." Jack was silent as Spot paced, ranting as he did so. "She's rubbed of da walls till ya take her back ya mean." Spot stared incredulously at Jack. "Who says I eva will?" Spot questioned, almost sneering. "You will. Like Bright always said, you was 'hard as a rock an' tough as steel on da outside, but on da inside, you'se as soft as mud.'" Spot turned away, face red. "Jest leave her be Jack. Brooklyn an' Manhattan is united now don't misundastand. But I can easily break dat unity wit'one woid. Don't push it. I got tings ta do." Spot trudged away, proud to the last. As Jack watched him go, he sighed and shook his head.   
  
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Racetrack Higgins entered the Lodging House with a contented smile on his face. There hadn't been many fights in the streets that day. He had sold all of his papers and had even won twice at the track. "Life cain't get any betta dan dis." Racetrack murmured happily to himself. As he walked past the living room, Racetrack stopped and backed up, looking inside the room itself. Bright Eyes was sitting in the rocking chair, rocking back and forth gently, her eyes unfocused and gazing into space. She was still dressed in her work clothes but her fancy shoes were kicked off and lying in a heap on the floor. Racetrack coughed softly so as to break the silence.  
  
"Hey Race. I knew you was dere. Ya didn't hafta cough." Bright Eyes said dismally. Racetrack forced a smile and sat in the chair across from the rocking chair expectantly. "So, how did woik go teday Bright?" Racetrack asked. Bright Eyes scoffed. "Oh great. I wrote anotha article fer Pulitzer, he took it an' slapped it smack dab on da front page. I got yelled at in da street. Some kid grabbed my stuff an' I got 'em back. I ran here afta bein' chased an I fell down in da mud 'cause of dese stupid, idiotic, wretched SKIRTS!!" Bright Eyes yelled with emphasis. Racetrack glanced down at the muddy skirts and hid a smile that quickly vanished as Bright Eyes spoke. "I shoulda known dat it wouldn't woik. I neva shoulda come back."  
  
Racetrack stared at the girl who finally looked him in the eyes. He took her hands into his as he spoke softly and convincingly. "Bright, if you had neva come back, I don't how I coulda lived wit' myself." Bright Eyes stared at Racetrack, confused. "Whaddya mean? It wasn't your fault!" Racetrack smiled and shook his head. "How was I suppposed to know dat Bright? I sold my papes every day, hopin' ta see ya on da street. I didn't see ya anywhere. I ate wit' da boys, went to da track, an' lost as usual. Nothin' was da same widout ya. I came home, went ta bed an' I prayed." Bright Eyes gazed at Racetrack, her eyes thanking him over and over for what he was saying. "What did ya pray for?"   
  
"I prayed dat you would come back. Every night I prayed dat. I prayed fer da daylight ta come, jest so dat I could pretend like my heart wasn't breakin' in a thousand pieces. I thought 'bout ya every night, wondrin' two things. One, if a person actually does die from heartbreak, an' two, if you were eva gonna let me git some sleep!" Bright Eyes broke into laughter as Racetrack spoke, easing the boy's mind. "So ya see Bright, I couldn't eva, eva want ya to neva come, 'cause if ya hadn't come, I probably wouldn't be here right now." Bright Eyes smiled and lovingly traced her finger on the boy's beaming face. "Thanks Race, it really does mean alot to me." Racetrack and Bright Eyes sat staring at each other, till Racetrack spoke up,   
  
"Bright?"  
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Do ya, well,"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"What I'm tryin' ta say is,"   
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Well, I think dat, I,"  
  
  
At that moment, as Bright Eyes and Racetrack stared into each others eyes, hands clasped, a certain force bringing them together, Mush banged open the door, startling the two. "Race! Bright! Brooklyn an' Manhattan got united! Jack went ta Brooklyn an' explained everytin'! Dis is great ain't it? YES! WE'VE GOT BROOKLYN!!" Mush jumped up in the air and threw his hat as far up as possible, the hat hitting the ceiling with a soft tap. Bright Eyes stared at Mush in shock, while Racetrack realized the news had mixed meanings for them both. Brooklyn was uniting with Manhattan, which was good for him and the rest of the boys, but for Bright Eyes, it meant more rejection from Spot and the boys in the Lodging House and maybe even more soakings. As Mush ran out of the room whooping, Racetrack took Bright Eyes' limp hands back into his own. "Listen, I ain't gonna let Spot hoit ya eva, ya undastand?"   
  
"Somebody say my name?" Racetrack turned and Bright Eyes lifted her head in shock. Spot stood, leaning into the doorway with his hands over his chest, a smirk on his face. "My dis is touchin'. Mind leavin' me an' Bright alone fer a minute Race? We gotsa talk 'bout some stuff." Racetrack squeezed Bright Eyes' hands and eased out of his seat, eyeing Spot as he passed him by. Spot smiled and sat down in the chair previously occupied by Racetrack. "Well, dis is nice. Romancin' wit da enemy eh Bright?" Bright Eyes' face turned a bright red and she looked the boy straight in the face. "I wasn't doin' anytin' of da sort an' you know it!"   
  
Spot grinned at the girl's agitation and leaned back in his seat. "Oh sure, an' dat whole kissin' ting at Christmas? Dat was nothin' too right?" Bright Eyes face became even redder and her eyes flashed fire. "Dat was different. I was dared an' Race made da foist move!" Spot rolled his eyes. "Oh sure. So ya heard da news?" Bright Eyes rolled her eyes and her hands instinctivly crossed across her chest. "Yeah I heaid."   
"Jack cain't protect ya fereva ya know."   
  
"I know dat. But I can protect myself Spot Conlon. I had a good teacher."  
  
Spot smiled scornfully. "Yeah, who was dat? Yer mudda? Oh I fergot, she's dead. Along wit' everybody else right! An' I jest got added to dat family right?" Thank goodness for Spot that he had quick reflexes, for as Bright Eyes' punch sailed straight towards his eye, Spot lifted his hands in protection, blocking the blow. "Dat was smooth Bright. I guess you ain't fergotten lotsa stuff I tol' ya. But I guess ya did ferget dat it was me who taught ya, an' I don't easily ferget me own tricks." Bright Eyes stood her ground, her hands at her sides, her fists clenched, glaring at Spot. Spot smiled and stood as well, staring at Bright Eyes mockingly. The two were the same height, and so they could see directly into each others eyes, each knowing what the other wanted to do to each other.   
  
Spot turned and began to walk away smiling, until he felt a jarring pain on his shoulder. It was only a slight pain and it had only lasted but a minute, so he paid it no mind and continued to walk out the door. But when the pain spread to his head, where he had hurt it during the second rally, he whirled around to face Bright Eyes, who was standing where he had left her, a slingshot poised in her hand, a marble ready to be shot the instant her expert fingers let go. Spot paused, as if frozen in his tracks as he watched Bright Eyes, her slingshot directly on her target. "I don't think dat ya really wanna do dat Bright." Bright Eyes scoffed and her weapon held. "I jest want ya ta take it back. All of it. 'Bout me mudda, 'bout you an' me, an' 'bout Race. Take it all back or I'll let dis go."  
  
Spot smiled now. "Dats all ya want Bright? Fer me ta take it back? It could be so easy couldn't it? Why don't ya jest have me grovel on my knees fer a bit why don't ya? Dats what ya want isn't it?" Bright Eyes still kept the slingshot on Spot, but her hands began to quaver as she spoke. "Jest do it Spot. I know how ta use dis ting, an' you know dat I can shoot you right between da eyes wit' it an' not miss." Spot grinned and pulled something out of his pocket. Spot had pulled out his slingshot and began to fit it with a marble, then easily training it on Bright Eyes. "I can do dat too Bright. Now put it down. Ya know dat Spot Conlon neva takes back stuff he means."   
  
The two stood their ground, each with their slingshots trained on each other, a fierce light burning in their eyes. "Why cain't things be the way they were Spot?" Spot had to crane his head slightly in order to hear Bright Eyes' whisper, but never shifted his slingshot. "Because Bright. You left, everytin' changed. The rally ruined us an' cost us a few boys, just 'cause somehow dose guys got in witout us knowin'. Den immediately afterwards ya left. It makes me wonda, if maybe you was behind some of dat." The marble hit Spot hard on the lip, making it cut against his teeth and begin to bleed. Spot swore and shot his marble, but missed, as Bright Eyes had ducked, sensing what would follow. "You take dat back Spot Conlon, or next time I won't miss." She whispered fiercely, her slingshot again focusing on Spot with a new marble.  
  
"Don't be stupid Bright." Spot sneered. "You cain't hoit me bad. You cain't now an' you neva will be able to. You wanna know why? 'Cause we were raised wit' each udda. We grew up tagetha, we were a family at one point in time. Dats how I know Bright." Bright Eyes quivered, her arms lowering slightly. The marbles came so fast that the two of them didn't know how to react. One hit Spot on the cheek and another ricocheted off of Bright Eyes' temple. The two Newsies held their hands to their injuries and gazed at the door. Racetrack and Red stood side by side, slingshots raised. "Wish I didn't hafta do dat Bright, Spot. But you was gonna make a big mistake uddawise." Racetrack said quietly, avoiding Spot's glare and Bright Eyes' look of shock as she clutched her head.   
  
"Alright! Who fired da shot on me? Huh? Which one of you scabba's did it?" Spot jumped up and stared into the two boy's faces. "I did Spot." Red spoke up, quietly gazing into Spot's angry eyes, knowing that all he would get from Spot would be a fierce talking to. "So, Race. You hit me?" Bright Eyes said softly. Racetrack didn't dare look into Bright Eyes' face, but instead stared at the floor and shuffled his feet. "I've leained a few tings from Brooklyn, includin' da slingshot stuff. Red's been teachin' me. I meant ta hit ya on da arm, but as ya can see, I still ain't got da aimin' thing right yet. Ya hafta undastand, I had ta." Racetrack murmured. Bright Eyes glanced at Spot, who was still obviously mad at Red for spoiling his fight. Bright Eyes walked up to Spot and stared at him in the face. "Just so ya know Brooklyn, I still care 'bout ya. Even if ya do hate me so much dat ya might even wanna stoop ta killin' me." Bright Eyes stepped past Spot, who stared off into space, trying to ignore her completely.  
  
Racetrack followed Bright Eyes out the door, leaving Spot and Red alone. Spot began to pace as Red stood in the doorway. "So whaddya think I should do wit' ya Red? Huh?" Red shrugged. "Don't rightly know Spot. I thought I was doin' da right thing. Ya don't really wanna hoit Bright Eyes, Spot." Spot stopped pacing and stared at Red. "Oh I don't do I? Oh, no. You bet I wanna hoit her! If given da chance I could wring her scrawny, little, scabba neck, if I wanted to dat is." Spot spoke with a sort of vigor that Red couldn't really understand. Spot's intentions sounded genuine, but his voice betrayed him. "You cain't hoit her Spot. You can threaten and yell an' scream, but it won't change the inevitable. You love her like a brudda should, in yer heart leastwise. You really don't wanna hoit her Spot."   
  
Spot collapsed in the chair and held his head in his hands. "I cain't hoit her Red, yer right. Jest why is it so hard ta say, I'm sorry, an' I take ya back? Why?" Red glanced down at his shoes in thought. "Well maybe its, I dunno Spot. I guess its jest one of dose things dat only God undastands maybe." Spot shrugged. "Maybe." Spot straightened and then turned to Red with a sort of half grin on his impish face. "Did ya see da way she handled her slingshot? She didn't fergit any of it. She knew, she knew exactly how it was done." Red nodded, an inner smile suppressing against his lips, glad that his friend had found one thing the same with his wayward sister and confidant.  
  
  
  



	4. The Break

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Racetrack followed the stormy Bright Eyes out of the room, calling her name as he went. "Jest leave me alone Race! I got tings ta do!" Racetrack grabbed her arm in a grip that she fiercely tried to get out of. "Jest leave me be! I need ta be alone!" Racetrack's grip held fast. "No, I ain't gonna let ya go. You wanna tell me whats goin' on here? Foist I leave ya alone, trustin' dat you'll keep yer head, den da next minute I walk in, you an' Spot have got yer slingshots set fer kill! Whats up with dat? How can I trust ya if ya won't listen to me?" As she spoke, Bright Eyes ceased struggling and instead glared at Racetrack, while trying to ease her arm out of his hold. "He said things he shouldn't have said Race. 'Bout me, an' you, an' me mudda. He wouldn't take 'em back, so I was jest reactin' appropriately I thought. So sorry if I didn't meet yer trust qualifications!"  
  
Racetrack rolled his eyes and loosened his grip on Bright Eyes' arm. "If you ain't gonna listen to me den I might as well let ya do what ya want. Dat seems ta me dat dats all ya wanna do anyway, what you want." Bright Eyes stared at Racetrack, traces of anger and pain still flecked in her eyes. "Oh, so I'm supposed to do what you want me to do all the time? I'm sorry Race I cain't do dat. I love you, but I cain't make decisions based on what you want me ta do. It ain't a pictua poifect woild, an' I gotta take me chances and make me own mistakes. I also gotta pick meself up again. Dat don't mean dat you cain't help me, it jest means dat I need a little breathin' room. Undastand? It ain't disrespect or breakin' of trust or nothin', dats jest all I need." As she spoke, Bright Eyes softly laid her hand on Racetrack's limp arm as he stood, listening to her speak. "Undastand Race?"   
  
Racetrack nodded and shrugged. "I jest love ya so much, an' I don't want anythin' ta happen to ya. Its like I don't want ya ta feel any pain 'cause I cain't stand ta see ya sad ya know?" Bright Eyes nodded, smiling. "I know, an' I undastand. Dats how I felt when I left. I didn't wanna 'cause you boys any pain." Racetrack smiled. "But dats all ova now. An' I'm gonna take ya to Tibby's. Dats one decision I'm makin' fer ya. Agreed?" Bright Eyes grinned and clasped her hand in his. "Agreed. You buyin'?" Racetrack turned in shock. "Me? Buyin'? I'm plumb broke!" Bright Eyes stopped in her tracks and put her hands on her hips. Racetrack grinned and threw his hands up in the air. "Jest jokin'! I gots some change." Bright Eyes smiled and followed Racetrack down the stairs, as the boy told her a joke he had heard at the races that day.  
  
As Spot watched the two go down the stairs laughing and talking happily, he rolled his eyes and plopped down on the nearest bed. As he laid down in it, he pillow rustled. "Oh what now? Money? Somebody's been robbin' a bank I guess." Spot mumbled as he reached into the pillow case and drawing out the articles it contained. Inside were papers. Two of the packets, Spot recognized as stories that Bright Eyes used to tell at the Brooklyn Lodging house, stories of Ireland. He scanned them over and then tossed them on the bed, his hand reaching back inside the pillow case. Another slip of paper came out in his hand. This paper was written in pencil, with rather wobbly handwriting and a few misspellings. Spot lifted up the paper and read it, a devious grin spreading over his face as he read.  
  
To Bright Eyes:  
I'm laying here in this place,  
my hands are clenched,  
I'm remembering your words.  
Doing the only thing that gets  
me through the nights  
since you've been gone.  
  
I've been praying for daylight,  
waiting for that morning sun.  
So I can act like my whole life  
ain't going wrong.  
Bright Eyes come back to me,  
I swear I'll make it right.  
Don't make me spend another  
lonely night, praying for daylight.  
  
I made a big mistake thinking that   
you'd never leave.  
'Cause if you're getting on with your   
new life where does that leave me?  
  
Praying for daylight, hoping that I didn't wait too long,  
But maybe this is just the dark before the dawn.  
  
Deep in my heart I know,  
that you love me as much as I love you.  
And that you must be lying somewhere   
looking up to heaven too.  
And maybe, you are praying for daylight,   
thinking of me too.   
I love you Bright. Racetrack Higgins  
  
  
Spot grinned and folded the paper carefully and slipped into Bright Eyes' room. When he stepped inside, he took the paper and slipped it on Bright Eyes' cot, knowing that she would see it when she walked in the room. But then on the spur of the moment, Spot took up a stray piece of paper and wrote a note and placed it on top of the letter, smiling to himself. "Bright Eyes' yer gonna wish like all da uddas dat you hadn't messed wit' me. Doesn't matta who we were before, jest what we are now." Spot smiled and stepped out of the room, closing the door softly as he went.  
  
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Bright Eyes smiled and sighed as she stepped into her room and closed the door. Racetrack had taken her to Tibby's, meeting up with the rest of the boys along the way. The boys were actually civil to me. I couldn't believe it! Bright Eyes thought to herself. Even Snoddy smiled and talked ta me. Maybe tings are turnin' betta afta all. She thought happily. Bright Eyes stopped twirling as she spied two pieces of paper on her bed. She lifted up the larger paper and read the slanted words, her eyes growing wider by the minute. She finished, her eyes glistening and her hand trembling. Only then did she remember the second piece of paper she held in her hand. She lifted it up and groaned as she scanned the familiar handwriting.   
  
Hey Bright Eyes. My word, you seem to be breaking hearts right and left ain't ya? Does Race know why you are here? Does Race know how you really feel about him? Does Race know why you left, right afta the rally? My guess is that he doesn't. Didn't you tell me once, dear friend, that for a relationship to work, even in a friendship, you need trust? You ain't been givin' very much of that lately. Well I suggest you start, or else I can see to it that Race never wants to see your face ever again. Most humbly and sincerely yours,  
  
Spot Conlon, Brooklyn  
  
P.S. Maybe you could start being honest with the rest of us too, and tell us what why you and Pulitzer are such best pals all of a sudden.  
  
  
  
  
Bright Eyes clutched the letter fiercely as she read the final line. Her eyes seemed to be on fire as she crunched the letter up in her fist and throwing it on her still unmade bed. The fire still burning in twin blue globes of her eyes, she threw on her coat and walked stiffly out of the door. When she reached the World building, she threw open the doors and shoved past the secretary at the front desk. When she reached Pulitzer's gilded wooden doors, she paused and knocked, then opened the door without waiting for a permissive word from the tycoon.   
  
Pulitzer merely looked up as Bright Eyes threw herself down in one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. "How are the articles coming McClaen? The people love them. Keep up the good work! Now what was it that you wanted to tell me?" Bright Eyes hesitated, then took a deep breath and began. "Listen Mr. Pulitzer, you've been more than kind by allowing my pieces to go on the front page, but some certain people don't like them as much as we do." Pulitzer looked up, confused. "What do you mean? Who doesn't like the articles?" Bright Eyes sighed. "Take a wild stab in the dark sir."   
  
Pulitzer's forehead furrowed and he shook his head. "The Newsies, sir. The people who sell this paper and all the other papers. The ones who get our papers read." Pulitzer stared at Bright Eyes. "Miss McClaen, are you taking their side?" Bright Eyes shook her head and stood up. "No sir. I just think that things are going a little too far." Pulitzer also sighed and stood. "Miss McClaen, do you realize what your article has done for us? Of course I know of the Newsies rebelling. This has been covered since your article started being run by the paper. This story has captivated the people Miss McClaen, and our sales have risen drastically. All thanks to you. Keep up the writing, I want to put out another article for the evening edition."   
  
Bright Eyes stared at Pulitzer. "Mr. Pulitzer, I don't know how long we can keep this up. This might get worse than better. I mean, remember the Newsies strike last year? It could be even worse than that! Mr. Pulitzer, those Newsies managed to round other Newsies up from all over New York, not just in New York City alone!" Pulitzer gazed cooly at Bright Eyes, his fists clenching and releasing as she spoke. "I am aware of who the Newsies managed to round up Miss McClaen. I am aware of what they managed to do to the reputation of this paper. Trust me. I am aware. And hang me if I ever let that happen again!" Bright Eyes gulped as she watched the transformation of the old man, and she began to step backwards toward the door, dashing out of it as she reached it. Pulitzer glared at the closed door, his eyes on fire as he remembered the things of the past.   
  
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Bright Eyes stepped into the back door of the theater out of breath. A large man startled her by coming out of the shadows in front of her. "Hey sorry, miss. Ya gotta go through the front doors. Dis is the back entrance fer employees." Bright Eyes nodded and put her hand on the man's shoulder. "Hey Toby, its okay. Its Bright. I came ta see Medda." Toby started and nearly dropped his box of assorted candies and cigars. "Bright! I'll tell Medda fer ya. She doesn't come on again fer anotha hour. Hold on a minute." Toby slunk back into the shadows of the theater and Bright Eyes leaned on the stairs leading up to the stage itself, listening to the act that was on at the moment. It was a trio of boys, singing what the Newsies liked to call, "songs to get drunk by."   
  
They were finished shortly and the applause was deafening. Yells and cheers exploded, most of which Bright Eyes noticed were given by slurred, drunken voices. Bright Eyes sighed and remembered a time when her father would have gone to a place like this, would've come home and collapsed on his bed, snoring loudly, leaving his family to search his pockets for remaining money so that they could buy food. The three boys clattered down the stairs at that moment, laughing and joking, and counting the money in their hands that had been thrown up on stage. As they came, Bright Eyes shrunk back into the shadows, watching them.   
  
"Good Lawd! I've got almost five dollas here boys!"   
  
"Man, dats even more dan last time!"   
  
"I've got jest about three dollas! What about you Tenor?"  
  
"I've got about dat amount too! Dis is great! Wait till I tell da boys!"   
"Yeah! Hey me an' Slick is goin' ta Tibby's, you gonna come?"  
  
"Yeah Tenor, den we can show you a what real fun is!"  
  
"Aw, I don't tink so boys. I told da guys dat I'd do sometin' wit 'em tonight."  
  
"Oh, Tenor! You gotta live a little!"   
  
"Yeah, I know. Go on. I'll see you boys later."  
  
"See ya Tenor."  
  
  
Bright Eyes watched Tenor as he sat down on the steps near where she was hiding. He sat there jingling the coins in his palm absentmindedly. Bright Eyes coughed and stepped out of the shadows. "Bright? What are ya spyin' on me fer? How'd ya know dat I was here?" Bright Eyes sat down next to the boy, who was now on his feet in guilty surprise. "Hey sit down. I didn't know dat you were here. Honest. An' I won't tell anyone if ya don't want me to." Tenor gave a sigh of relief and resumed his place on the stairs. "I would prefer if ya didn't Bright." Bright Eyes gazed at the boy, who shied from her gaze and stared at the coins in his hands.   
  
"So have ya been comin' here instead of sellin' yer papes?" Tenor's head shot up. "What makes ya tink dat?" Bright Eyes shrugged. "I dunno. I was jest wondrin'." Tenor looked at her for a moment, and hung his head. "Yeah, I haven't even been sellin' my papes. I came here. I couldn't help it Bright! I didn't wanna sell my papes anymore because of all da fightin'!" Bright Eyes immediately put her arm around the boy. "But all da fightin's gone down now! You can sell yer papes jest like before Tenor." Tenor shook his head sadly as he leaned into the girl's arms. "Nope, I cain't. It pays better here anyway Bright. I'll jest stay at da Lodgin' House. I jest cain't sell papes anymore." At that moment, a rustle of lace intruded on the boy's speech as Medda stepped off of the steps. Tenor jumped out of Bright Eyes arms and bowed to Medda. "Love ta stay an' chat Medda, but I gotta run! You undastand."   
  
Medda laughed whimsically at the boy. "Of course, of course! Go about your way." Tenor bowed again and raced out the back door, the door slamming behind him, leaving Medda and Bright Eyes alone. Medda stood for a moment on the landing looking Bright Eyes over, and Bright Eyes doing the same to Medda. It seemed to Bright Eyes that Medda hadn't aged at all. She wore a dress of a bright pink, and her red hair still in ringlets about her shoulders. "Well Bright Eyes? Is this how you greet your old friend?" Bright Eyes grinned and rushed into the older lady's arms, that stretched invitingly. The two held each other close for a moment before they let go and sat down upon the aged wooden stairs. "So, you are a writer. I never thought you would be." Medda said, sighing. "Yeah, its a good payin' job, but I still miss hawkin' da headlines." Bright Eyes remarked.  
  
"Funny you should mention that. Maybe don't you think that you should just quit the World and go back to doing what you are best at?" Bright Eyes stared at Medda in shock. "Medda! What da heck you talkin' about? I love writin'! Its me life!" Bright Eyes yelled. "Its not your life Bright Eyes. Selling the papers was your life before you left. That is what you must go back to doing." Bright Eyes stood up angrilly. "You know Medda, when I came here, I was all happy 'cause I knew dat you would undastand. Well I guess I was wrong. Maybe I don't belong here any more dan I don't belong in New Yawk!" Bright Eyes stormed out the door angrily, slamming the door behind her. Medda sat, like a tree in the middle of a storm in its wake, unmoving, unstirring, before she too stood and walked back to her theater, wondering, if she had done the right thing.  
  
  
  



	5. A Resolution

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When Bright Eyes reached the World Building the next morning, nearly everyone detected a change in her. The boys had noticed it, a gleam in her eye that surely had some significance of an event to come. The man at the front desk of the World had noticed the gleam, everyone had noticed it, save for Joseph Pulitzer. When Bright Eyes waltzed into his office, he greeted her as he always did. "Good morning Miss McClaen. How are the stories coming?" Bright Eyes grinned and leaned over the man's desk. "I have a proposition for you Mr. Pulitzer." The words rang through Pulitzer's body like an electric shock. Many times he had said it, and many times he had said it to those street arabs who sold his papers. But Joseph Pulitzer, was not a man who dwelled on the past, and thus discarded the feeling. "Really? What might that be?"  
  
Bright Eyes smiled mischieviously and sat down in one of the chairs quickly. "Remember the Newsies rally, oh don't speak sir, I know you remember." Bright Eyes added quickly as she saw the fire begin to glow again in Pulitzer's eyes. "Anyway, why couldn't we have one of our own? It would be wonderful for the paper sir. Think of it, a night of glory for the paper, and an interview with the man who has captivated the whole of New York with his writings, Andy McClaen." Bright Eyes spoke, her upraised arm puntuating her every word as she spoke. Pulitzer gazed at Bright Eyes for a moment, speechless. "I like it, I like it! But how do we present a Mr. McClaen to the public when only you and I know the truth?" Pulitzer said doubtfully. "Don't even think of it sir. I have just the man. He is upright, a wonderful speaker, and he would make an exquisite Andy McClaen." Pulitzer rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "It would be a good idea. A good way to compete with Hearst. I'll do it! I'll arrange the food and costs, etc. And you get this Andy McClaen. And we will be in business!" Pulitzer said happily as Bright Eyes shook his hand heartily. "You won't regret it sir! Not at all." Bright Eyes murmured.  
  
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"No Bright Eyes! I refuse! This is utterly preposterous! It will never even work! This is even worse than," "David, if you won't help me, then I'll tell everyone that you did and maybe still do have a crush on me." David stopped in his tracks and stared hard at Bright Eyes. "You wouldn't dare." Bright Eyes raised her eyebrows mischieviously. "Oh, wouldn't I?" David sighed and shouldered his coat and resumed walking. "Fine. I know you will if I don't. You are SO stubborn Bright Eyes. But I'm over ya. What do I have to do?" Bright Eyes grinned and took out a packet of papers. "Well first of all you have to be familiar with all of these." David took the packet and ruffled through them, eyes wide. "All of these?" Bright Eyes rolled her eyes. "Of course Davey, you can't be talking about my articles and not know them! And here's my talk that you are gonna give for me." David's eyes widened farther as Bright Eyes plopped a thick wad of papers on top of the packet of papers.  
  
"Bright Eyes you can't be serious!" David whined. "I am very serious. Now promise me that you'll do it. I can't have you chickening out on me at the last minute." Bright Eyes insisted. "Bright, what if Pulitzer remembers me from the strike? You didn't think about that did you?" Bright Eyes rolled her eyes and patted David's arm. "Of course I did, everything is taken care of Davey. Don't worry about a thing. Me an' the boys got everything under control." David groaned. "Thats what I'm afraid of!" Bright Eyes rolled her eyes and patted David on the shoulder. "Don't worry about a thing Davey. I'll let you know when Pulitzer picks a date, but from this day forward, ya gotta read those things. Undastand?" David sighed reluctantly and took Bright Eyes' hand and shook it. "Great! I'll see ya lata Davey!" Bright Eyes yelled as she skipped up the Lodging House stairs. "Oh boys!!! I'se got a fava ta ask ya!!" Bright Eyes yelled as she stepped over the threshhold.  
  
***********************************************************************  
After Bright Eyes had outlined the conclusion of the plan to the boys, they were silent, as grins spread over their faces. But then, the lone voice of Spot Conlon, who had been invited to the session, spoke out, "Hey Bright. If we's gonna do dis, I tink dat dere needs ta be some esplainin'." Bright Eyes sighed and dropped her head. She had known that this minute had to come, but she wished that she was more ready for it. "Well, its like dis. I probably neva woulda left New Yawk if it hadn't been fer da rally an' all dat. All dat was, my fault." Whispers and gasps trickled out softly, like water breaking through ice. Bright Eyes ignored them and continued. "Yeah, it was me who came up wit' all dat. Me who let da Delancys in. I did all dat. Me who got you boys all hoit, an' den hoit ya more by leavin'." Bright Eyes said softly. There was silence in the room.   
  
"How in da woild was dat yer fault Bright? You, didn't really let da Delancys in, did ya?" Mush questioned, his voice quavering. "Yeah, I did. I did it. Dat one night when I left an' ran off, an' Les found me an' said I was by da docks, I was seein' Pulitzer." Angry shouts burst around the girl like bomb shells as her words impacted on them. The shouts were loud and sharp, cries of disbelief and fiery tempers were aroused as they yelled. Finally Spot stood, his face red and angry. "Okay, quiet down! I have a feelin' dat Bright ain't done yet." Bright Eyes looked at him swiftly and then at the boys as they stopped shouting.   
  
"Anyway, I was wit' Pulitzer. He tol' me what ta do an' everytin'. He was da mastamind behind everyting, I jest carried it out. Da Delancy's were in it an' so was every udda bad guy in New Yawk. But Pulitzer was behind it, he made me do dis stuff, an' I coulda refused, but I woulda had ta pay a price, dat even now I'm not sure dat I would live through. Dat price, woulda been havin' me fadda come back and take me inta his care. His care meant daily beatin's!" Bright Eyes ejaculated angrily into the silence. "So I coulda refused, but you boys woulda neva seen me again. Eva. Turns out da reason fer usin' me ta do all dis, was ta git back at you boys fer da strike. He was hit pretty hard aftawoids an' he neva really recovered from it. So he figured dat da best way ta git back at you, was ta hit ya right on da hearts an' take what you loved an' make her turn traita. It didn't make me feel good, no way. An' den when Pulitzer said dat I had ta leave town, dat was da last straw. An' I woulda backed out, 'cept dat me fadda was dere."   
  
Bright Eyes stopped, reliving the horror of that moment, when her worst nightmare had come true. When she had seen the phantom that had haunted her dreams since her childhood, the phantom she wished that she could forget. "He was dere, wit' Pulitzer. Both of 'em. Talkin' up a storm. He made me stay, an' den he left, leavin' me an' Pulitzer alone. Den I was gonna back out again widout listenin' ta what Pulitzer wanted me ta do, but den, he threatened ta take out Race fer good if I did." Bright Eyes looked up and saw the looks of horror on the boys' faces at what might have been. Racetrack's pale face caught her eye, and she smiled weakly. "I, wasn't 'bout ta let dem do dat. I'd woulda ratha died, den let him get a hold of you boys. So I gave in, an' said dat I would leave New Yawk. Da only catch was dat I couldn't tell any of ya's. I wanted to, so many times, but I couldn't. Dats da only reason dat I was in Brooklyn ta see ya dat last day Spot. So dat I could say goodbye." Spot nodded slowly. "Yeah, its all startin' ta fall inta place now."   
  
"I wish dat I coulda said goodbye, but it was life 'er death, not my life, but all of yours. So I left. But I'm back, an' ol' Pulitzer cain't tell da difference. So I need ta ask, no beg yer boy's fergiveness. If it kin be given. I'm so sorry fer what I put ya through." There was silence, but only for a few moments before forgivenesses were thrown at her from all ends of the room. Bright Eyes smiled at all of them, then noticed Spot standing alone by the door. She walked up to him and waited. He looked up at her incredulously. "So what? Ya want a peisonal apology from me?" Bright Eyes flinched. "I jest, wanted ta say I'm sorry ta you. I put ya through a lot more dan the uddas. You was dere dat night when I left. I had no idea. I'm so sorry dat I had ta put ya through dat Spot! Please, please fergive me. Isn't dere any way dat ya can?" Bright Eyes pleaded.   
  
Spot looked up into the girl's face and smiled smugly. "So now dat yer on yer knees ya tink dat I'll have pity on ya? I don't know if dere is any way Bright. Pain don't heal ovanight. And not even in a year. So I cain't comply ta yer request, an' I cain't answer yer question. But I can help ya's an' da boys." Bright Eyes lifted her head quickly. Spot shrugged. "Its da least I kin do ta make Pulitzer undastand dat we ain't da street rats dat he tinks we are." Spot winked and walked out the door, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slouched. Bright Eyes watched him leave with a mixture of sadness and at the same time happiness that he would help her. "So, is he gonna do it?" Racetrack's voice startled Bright Eyes and she turned suddenly. She smiled an grasped his hand that lay limp at his side. "Yeah, he's gonna help. Dats all I kin ask of him fer now."   
  
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Bright Eyes was summoned the next day to Pulitzer's office. A date was decided by the two of them and Jonathan, Pulitzer's advisor of sorts. The rally was to be set for that very Saturday. It would be a grand affair with all the pomp and circumstance Pulitzer could muster, to prove himself once and for all to be better than Willy Hearst. "Willy" Hearst, was the first guest on the invitation list. When asked about servers, Bright Eyes stepped in. "Oh Mr. Pulitzer! I can take care of that! I know just the business. Just allow me to take the money and I'll take care of it." Pulitzer nodded and handed over a pile of bills absentmindedly as he listened to Jonathan drone on and on. Bright Eyes fingered the bills with gleaming eyes and pocketed them. The rest of the work day was spent in preparation for the upcoming affair. Invitations were sent, caterers were called, and decorations were ordered. Everything was going according to plan, both plans.  
  
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Bright Eyes sat in the blue satin dress, squirming uncomfortably. She had just finished overseeing the final decorations with Pulitzer, a thoroughly boring affair. Now she was just waiting for the food and servers to come. A loud banging on the door broke into the girl's thoughts and she rushed up to open it. Outside were the 3 dozen waiters, all dressed in nice suits, even with flowers in their lapels. The first server stepped in and winked, indicating the other boys to set up the tables in the next room. Bright Eyes smiled and took his arm, and walked outside to the back door. "Is this going to work out?" Bright Eyes asked the waiter. "It will. Everything is ready and nothing is going to ruin your evening." The waiter said confidently. Bright Eyes smiled again, this time in relief, and patted his arm. "Go on and help everyone else. Oh and by the way, love your beard and goatee." The waiter smiled and ran to catch up with his work. Bright Eyes followed him, only with a sophisticated walk.   
  
Bright Eyes walked past the waiters and to the back of the platform which was to serve for the speeches. Behind the curtain, she found who she was looking for. A man of rather medium height, with smoothed back curly hair that threatened to fall over at any second, with a small mustache. This man was reading a large stack of papers and reciting to himself. "Davey?" David jumped a foot and nearly dropped the papers in his surprise. "Good grief!! Bright," Bright Eyes held up a warning finger. "Anne. You nearly gave me a heart attack! And do you know how long it took me to put these papers back in order after Les threw his school books on them? Do you?" Bright Eyes smiled.   
  
"You'll do fine Davey, or Andy. No one will notice." David leaned up against the wall, worry etched on his every feature. "I don't know. You still have to introduce me to Pulitzer. And what if he recognizes me? Huh? What do we do then?" Bright Eyes shrugged. "Then we say that you are a cousin and an unfortunate look alike with a mustache. Trust me. He won't notice. He's still so excited about getting more publicity than Willy Hearst that you could spill caviar on his suit and he wouldn't notice." David frowned and rubbed his mustache. "I hate this thing! Its so annoying! I mean, I know that it covers up my face, but a faux mustache? Come on. If it falls off during the ceremony, I'll kill you after they kill me!" Bright Eyes rolled her eyes and walked off the stage, David's arm firmly in hand.   
  
David ceased pulling on his arm after he noticed in whose direction that they were heading. Pulitzer was talking heatedly with Seitz, and after he had dismissed the butler, walked towards Bright Eyes and David. "Ah, Ms. McClaen. This must be your Andy McClaen. Welcome and thank you for doing this. Whats his real name Ms. McClaen?" David glanced at Bright Eyes warily as he shook the tycoon's hand. "His name is Joseph David Alexander, a very dear friend of mine." Bright Eyes said to Pulitzer confidently. Pulitzer nodded and patted David's arm once more. "Congratulations my boy! You will be the guest of honor here. Good work!" Pulitzer then hobbled off, complimenting everyone in site, even down to one of the guest's tiny lap dog, who was seated in the hallway in a tiny basket. Bright Eyes grinned as she watched the guests flood in the doorway and shoved David back towards the stage. "Get ready. You know the signal right?" She whispered. "Of course I do! I just hope this mustache doesn't fall off!" David murmured as he dashed back to the back of the stage.   
  
One of the waiters approached her from behind and whispered, "Everything is ready. We'll be standing by and waiting for everyone." Bright Eyes nodded her approval as she scanned the crowd. Finally she found the individual and he saw her. He turned, a dashing figure in his black suit, with an exquisite red rose in his lapel. "He never wastes his style thats for sure." Bright Eyes murmured. The figure winked and pointed up to the front row. Bright Eyes nodded and pointed to her seat. The figure nodded and walked off briskly. Bright Eyes noticed that finally the seats were full, and the people were talking loudly. Pulitzer motioned her to her seat in the front row and she nodded, making her way there as quickly as possible. Pulitzer hobbled up the stairs to the stage and approached the stand.   
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen. It is my pleasure to welcome you, to this party tonight. We have a splendid treat for you as you may very well know. He has made our paper prosper and the revolutionized the people of New York. May I present to you, Mr. Andy McClaen!" Pulitzer stepped aside as the applause ripped from the masses of people. David stepped out in full regalia, holding the huge speech in his hands, bowing and waving as he walked out. "Don't overdo it Davey." Bright Eyes whispered silently. David shook Pulitzer's hand and stepped up to the podium. "Thank you Mr. Pulitzer. And thank you all for coming to this event. It is thrilling to see so many of you out here today who appreciate my articles. I will start off now with a little something that I have prepared."   
  
And David proceeded with the speech, without a falter to Bright Eyes' relief. David said the first hours worth of the speech without even a misplaced word. When he had finished the first half of it, he bowed and gestured to a person in the audience. David then retreated from the podium and stood towards the back of the stage. The short figure in the tuxedo, his red rose shining in the stage lights, stepped up on the stage and approached the podium. His gray eyes winked in the light as he spoke to the now murmuring audience. "Ladies and Gentlemen. We will now give Mr. McClaen a rest. In the meantime before he begins again, I suggest that you take some refreshments, which some charming lads will serve you. There are drinks and food and you are all welcome to it. Thank you." The figure stepped off of the platform and headed toward Bright Eyes' general direction. As he past her, his shoulder brushed hers and he whispered, "Good Lawd, I hope yer satisfied! I didn't think I'd get through dat widout breakin' inta some slang!" Bright Eyes smiled as the figure headed towards the food tables, spread with an abundance of food.  
  
After a time, Bright Eyes turned to the clock as she sipped her punch happily. The time was 7:50. Bright Eyes turned to one of the waiters at the tables. He nodded and rubbed his brown eyepatch. Bright Eyes in turn, turned and faced the figure with the red rose. He nodded and walked briskly back up to the stage. "Ladies and Gentlemen. If you'll please come back to yer, um, your seats, Mr. McClaen will be back here shortly." The figure stepped off the stage, and when Bright Eyes looked at him questioningly, he shook his head and drew his finger across his throat. Bright Eyes laughed and resumed her place in the audience. After ten minutes David finally approached the podium and finished the speech, again, flawlessly. But when he had finished and the applause was at its highest peak, David waved down the audience.  
  
"I have something more to say. It is part of my next and last article that I will be writing for Mr. Pulitzer." At this during the confusion of the audience, Bright Eyes turned to the lead waiter and nodded. The waiter turned to the figure with the red rose, who grinned and motioned up above. Slowly and surely, David began to read the article. "My fellow friends. This is my final article, and I want to make it my best. I have said many things about these people, called the Newsboys, or Newsies. I must say that everything that I have said, is a lie. Yes, to the rich people of New York and to Mr. Joseph Pulitzer himself, the Newsies are mere street rats not worthy to live. I believe otherwise, and I have proof, right now."  
  
As he spoke, three lines of people made their way up the aisles. They were the servers, the waiters and a group of boys in tuxedos led by a figure with a red rose pinned in his lapel. They stepped onto the platform as David stood off to the side and grinned. The two leaders of the servers, waiters, and the suit clad boys, approached the podium, grinning at the audience. The taller of them, the leader of the servers and waiters, pulled off the faux goatee and mustache, while the boy with the red rose, pulled off his hat to reveal his brown-blonde hair slicked back to perfection. In the audience, Pulitzer stared in horror at the leader of the servers and waiters.   
  
David approached the podium between the two boys and yelled to the audience. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Pulitzer. May I present to you, Jack Kelly, leader of the Manhattan Newsies, and the infamous Spot Conlon of the Brooklyn Newsies." Behind the boys and all around the auditorium, rang the shouts of praise from the other disguised Newsboys, causing the guests to look around in shock. The two leaders waved and whooped to them as Pulitzer stared at the two boys at the podium. Jack finally waved them down and yelled out to the audience. "Hey, lets hear it fer Davey!!" With the shouts echoeing around them, David walked up to the podium, and with his face red, pulled off the faux mustache, much to the delight of the Newsboys and to the amusement of a few of the guests, who could not help laughing with the infectious boys.  
  
"Stop! Stop! This can't be! Get off that stage you! Get off!" Pulitzer yelled from the audience, shocking everyone into silence as he clomped up the stairs toward the podium. "Oh hey everybody! Joe wants ta say sometin'!" Jack yelled above the crowd, causing them to laugh, despite Pulitzer's yells for silence. "You! You did all of this! Who are you really? You get up here!" Pulitzer yelled, as he pointed an accusing finger at Bright Eyes. Bright Eyes sighed and stood up, the silk falling gracefully around her ankles. "I am Bright Eyes O'Connor, at your service Joe. I'm back, and I intend to stay." The boys whooped and cheered as Pulitzer stared, mortified. Bright Eyes ascended the stairs, feeling like a queen and walked up to Pulitzer.   
  
"You aren't really the real writer Andy McClaen. It was all a trick to get here!" Pulitzer yelled. "Oh on the contrary Joe. You see, I am Andy McClaen. I wrote all of those articles, under a male name. My mother's maiden name was McClaen." Those in the audience who remembered a few of the Newsies in the strike and had supported them, even though Pulitzer forbade it, sighed happily as they listened to her explain. "But I told you to go away and never come back!! Never!" The audience and the Newsies gasped in shock as they listened to Pulitzer's confession. "Oh Joe. That, my friend was a big mistake." Bright Eyes said warningly. Pulitzer gazed out over the now changed audience, with new eyes, as he saw that they had turned against him and had gravitated to the side of the Newsies.   
  
"I just can't believe that. I mean, the fights in the streets! You came into the office with a bruise on the cheek from one of those ruffians!" Pulitzer protested, but the audience could tell that he was weakening. "But Joe, it was just kids coming in with the injuries. And we talked to those kids and their parents. The parents knew us and knew that if we hurt them we actually didn't mean to. It was all an act Joe. Even down to the fights between the Newsies." Bright Eyes said, grinning. "But your bruise," Pulitzer protested. "Lets just say that one of the actors got a little carried away." Bright Eyes said warily as she glanced behind her at a blushing Mush. Pulitzer was now out of words, as he had been at the end of the strike. There was silence in the auditorium now that the truth had come out. Finally, Jack figured out the right thing to say for the moment. "Hey everybody! Lets hear it for Bright Eyes McClaen O'Connor!!!" The audience burst with applause and cheers, from both Newsies and the guests.  
  
As the cheers echoed around her, Bright Eyes turned around to the cheering Newsies behind her and sought out a lone face in the crowd. Even though he was dressed in a fancy suit, and his hair was slicked back, it didn't faze his smiling brown eyes that Bright Eyes found that she couldn't live without anymore. Bright Eyes ran into Racetrack's open arms. After a moment, Racetrack pushed her away from him and went down on one knee. "Bright, I'd give ya a ring, if I had one. An' I'd give ya a dress if I had da money. I'd give a ya a bouquet of roses, 'cept I don't got enough dough fer dat. So I've jest got myself. Is it enough? 'Cause I know dat I can't live widout ya anymore. Marry me?" Bright Eyes stared at Racetrack before she pulled her mother's silver ring off her finger and gave it to Racetrack, who grinned and slipped it on her ring finger. Bright Eyes' eyes filled with tears. "Of course I'll marry ya." Racetrack leapt from his knees and grasped Bright Eyes into his arms, nearly crying himself. The few Newsies who had witnessed the affair, clapped the two on the back and cheered, but many of them missed it, in their own moment of glory. For that moment was not over, and Bright Eyes' and Racetrack's moment had lasted for only a minute, but to them, would last for eternity.  
  
As he hugged Bright Eyes, Racetrack remembered something and pulled the wilted white carnation out of his lapel and handed it to Bright Eyes, blushing. "It ain't no rose, but it'll look good wit' ya." Bright Eyes laughed through her still flowing tears as she accepted the wilted flower and touched its petals delicately with her fingers. Racetrack then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, not the brand new, white one that had come with his suit, but his old handkerchief. The one that he had cut out of one of his mother's dresses before he fled from his home, the one that had been with him his whole life. He took this heirloom and touched it to his bride-to-be's cheeks. "Don't cry Bright. Dis is supposed ta make ya happy. Not sad." Bright Eyes laughed and clutched Racetrack. "I'm the happiest girl alive Race! An' I couldn't be happier!"   
  
And so the curtain falls upon the Newsboys of New York, most of them cheering for their final and more satisfactory win against Pulitzer, but a few noticing the beautiful moment in their midst. Jack and Spot, watched as this moment unfolded and bloomed, much like the brilliant red rose in Spot's jacket. Spot watched the two and grinned. "I cain't believe dat ol' Race finally did it. An' I cain't believe what I'm gonna do." Jack looked at his friend curiously as Spot made his way over to Bright Eyes. As he approached, Bright Eyes turned and met the Brooklyn leader's gaze. "Bright, I know dat I said some pretty harsh words, before. Ya know when ya came back? I want ta know, well you see, what I'm tryin' ta say. Is dat I'm sorry. Can ya fergive me?" Bright Eyes gazed at Spot in happiness, and hugged him tightly. "Of course I can. I've been waitin' for ya to say dat fer such a long time!"  
  
Behind them, Racetrack laughed. "Good grief Spot! I jest proposed to da woman, an' yer already tryin' ta steal her away!" Spot smacked Race on the shoulder as he laughed. "Too late Race. She's so attached ta you dat I tink dat me charms are beyond her." "Hey mind if old Jack Kelly joins da party?" Jack questioned as he approached the laughing trio. "Naw, what would we do widout ya Cowboy?" Spot asked amiably. The four friends stood together, finally united and not divided by petty differences that cause so much disaster among friends. The four laughed that night, at Pulitzer, at the World, and they laughed for the future generation, that would come all too soon.  
  
  
  



	6. Epilogue

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Epilogue.  
  
Bright Eyes O'Connor and Racetrack Higgins were married on October 25, 1901. Nine months afterwards they had a son, who was named Anthony Michael Higgins, otherwise known as "Grabs". Twenty months after that, Shailagh Anne Higgins, or "Fairy" joined her brother "Grabs". In two year's time brought the twin boys, "Picks" and "Pockets", and their equally rambunctious brother, "Cowboy". Two more years hastened the arrivals of the twin girls, "Sunshine" and "Angel", and their youngest child, a boy, "Taps". But youngest son of Racetrack was not known as "Taps" in Brooklyn. Across that bridge, he was known to his godfather as, "The Slingshot". But that, as well as the lives of the other children, is another story  
  
To Be Continued..........................................................................................................................  
  
  



End file.
